


Christmas Cabin

by brimstonegold, virtualpersonal



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Christmas, Fluff, Hunter Dean, M/M, Non-Hunter Sam, Professor Sam, Romance, Schmoop, Sexy Times, sam and dean are not brothers, xmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-01 22:42:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2790362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brimstonegold/pseuds/brimstonegold, https://archiveofourown.org/users/virtualpersonal/pseuds/virtualpersonal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>College Professor Sam is caught in a blizzard and Dean is more than happy to give him shelter at his cabin.  If you’re looking for something short, sweet, sexy and Xmassy, you’ve found it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [](http://s1114.photobucket.com/user/virtualpersonal/media/story%20art/mediumwhitebannerforxmas_zps55012894.jpg.html)  
>  background for banner is from coolwallpapers dot org
> 
> Co-written with Brimstonegold

Winter break was Sam's opportunity to go on a skiing holiday. He'd told himself it would be fun, even if he was alone. One-by-one, his friends had gotten hooked up or married and had family obligations, so he’d found himself at loose ends. 

It wasn't like he couldn't make friends on the slopes. As for Christmas, he'd grown up as a foster child, bounced from one home to another, and never had any yearly traditions ingrained in him. Truth to be told, Christmas just reminded him of the kid he'd been. The one who looked through other people’s windows and wondered what it would be like to have as much fun as they were having, decorating and wrapping gifts. 

All of his thoughts about the feelings the season stirred up were forgotten now that he found himself caught in a blizzard. His car was beyond stuck. His cell had no reception. And if he stayed there, he knew he'd freeze to death.

Grabbing a light duffel bag, he stuffed a couple bottles of water in it and a flashlight with extra batteries. It was risky, leaving the car and being without shelter, but he had no other choice. He had no one waiting on him, no one to tell the authorities he was missing. No one would come looking for him. He knew there were cabins in the area. He just had to find one.

He trudged through the knee high snow for hours, until it grew dark and he had to use his flashlight. His thick coat was wet and no longer kept the cold out. His muscles ached with the strain of lifting his legs and fighting the snow sinking down underfoot. He refused to tell himself it had been a stupid choice to leave the car. 

_One leg in front of the other. Keep going. Keep going._ His mind was as numb as his body, and the mantra helped.

Then he saw it in the dark. Some lights, twinkling. At first he thought he'd reached a town, but then he realized it was a lone cabin with Christmas lights strung around the windows. All he could think of was that he'd been saved. Unless there was an axe-wielding maniac inside.

Lifting his leaden feet, he finally found himself at the door and leaning against it, he knocked. He was so exhausted, his knock barely made a sound. Making an effort, he knocked harder.

Dean Winchester was whistling a Christmas tune, more to himself than anything. There was a helluva snow storm swirling around the cabin and he was quite content to settle in with spiked hot cider, a fire roaring in the fireplace, and some stupid ass Christmas movie on. It had become a tradition of sorts for him to come to the cabin at Christmas time, away from the glitz and commercialization and all the family feel good crap. Unless he was working on a hunt, he happily retreated to his cabin fairly soon after a good Thanksgiving meal at whichever diner he was near at the time.

It was ironic that they'd never celebrated Christmas after his mom died, yet when he came to the cabin, he strung up lights no one would see, chopped down a small pine tree that he decorated with a bunch of rather non-traditional homemade ornaments. He strung the tree with popcorn, tinsel and some lights.

After his father died, Dean had gotten caught in a snowstorm rather like tonight's and stumbled across the cabin. Once the storm passed, he looked into who owned it and found out he could buy it pretty much on the cheap. There were some power lines running to the ski resort not too far away that he was able to tap into, so he had pretty much any creature comfort he wanted.

His brow furrowed when he heard something at the door. At first, he thought it was just the wind rattling the door, but it sounded again, a little louder. Grabbing his shotgun, he held it against the door and opened the peephole to look outside. A guy who looked half frozen was standing on his porch. A very good looking half frozen guy. Still, didn't mean the guy wasn't some psychopath.

Dean cracked the door open. "Who are you and whaddaya want? I already got my Girl Scout cookies and the only thing Santa's bringing me is coal.”

"Do I look like S...Santa?" Sam shook slightly, causing snowflakes to fall off his hair. "Huh, guess I do." He put his hand on the door, to prevent the guy from closing it. "Car got stuck on the highway. Can I use your phone? Cell's getting no reception." His breath misted, immediately forming ice crystals.

Dean stared at the guy a minute then opened the door. "Well, get your ass in here Jack Frost. Go sit in front of the fire." When the guy practically stumbled inside, Dean closed the door after glancing at the whiteout beyond his porch. He set his shotgun down by the door. "Coffee or hot cider, Jack?"

"Whichever is easier. Thanks," Sam managed, dropping the bag near the door, and blowing into his hands as he walked to the fireplace. The heat was a relief, but he knew better than to get too close to the flames. He needed to warm up slowly.

He turned around very slowly, not wanting to seem threatening in any way. Seeing the rifle propped up in the corner, his gaze swept over to the guy. He'd set it down at least. Besides, who wouldn't have a rifle up here in the mountains? Catching himself staring, not at the weapon, but at the man, Sam looked away. 

"I'm Sam, but you can call me Jack, if you like." He grinned, then looked at the doorway leading to another room in the cabin, fully expecting to see the hot mountain man's wife or girlfriend come out any moment now.

"Name's Dean. Already got a crock pot full of spiked cider. It'll warm you up nicely on all counts," he said heading over to the small kitchen. He ladled out some into a cup and brought it over to Sam. "You need to get out of those frozen boots and pants. Here's the cider, I'll get you some sweats to change into and a wool blanket to wrap up in. And I don't have phone or internet. We'll have to wait until the storm passes. I do have an emergency radio, but with this storm, unless yer dying, they ain't coming out for you."

Wrapping his hands around the cup, Sam gave a sound of pleasure at the heat warming his palms. He took a small sip, then a second one. "This is great." His gaze darted around the room, to confirm the lack of a phone. "No phone or net, guess that's one way to force yourself to relax. I know people who pay extra to have hotels confiscate their phones and lap tops," he laughed, his teeth rattling a little, letting him know Dean was right about needing to get out of his clothes.

"Be glad I got electricity," Dean said. "First two winters here, I didn't. And yeah, it's nice to get away from everything for a couple weeks. There's plenty more cider," he said as he walked down the hall Sam's gaze had gone to. "Bathroom is backside of the fireplace, down this hall," he said and walked into the small bedroom with a king-sized bed. He dug through his drawer and pulled out some sweats, boxers, wool socks and a thick sweatshirt. He grabbed one of the woolen blankets from his bed and returned to the main room.

"C'mon Sam, you need to get out of those clothes. Need help getting your boots off?"

"What?" He'd been day dreaming about Dean taking his clothes off so the question gave him a shock. "Ah, no, I can... I'm good," he said, taking the clothes from Dean. "Blizzard clears up and we go into town, I owe you drinks or dinner. You and... the missus, if there is one." He started heading for the bathroom, hoping it was equipped with a heater. 

"Steak and beer," Dean said. "And no one but me here. No missus elsewhere either."

Dean refilled his own cup of cider, warming it back up, and returned to sit in front of the computer, watching the DVD he had in with minor interest. "What about you? Girlfriend? Hitched? Someone gonna freak if you don't get in touch with them tonight? We can crank up the radio and let the police know you're safe if anyone starts getting in their faces about you."

"Nah, I play on the other team but... no boyfriend either," Sam admitted, bending over and pulling his boot off, then working on the other one. "I just thought with all the lights up... you do that on your own? Just for you?" Straightening, Sam started to strip. He wasn't in Dean's line of vision, and he'd mostly closed the door but could still hear Dean's answers.

Dean cocked an eyebrow. "You know, a lot of idiots wouldn't take well to knowing they got a gay stranger in the other room. I don't care, cause I play both sides of the fence, but just saying, you oughtta be more careful about just putting it out there. And yeah, I did the lights and tree and shit. Never had Christmas growing up. I ended up stuck here one Christmas and it just sort of became a tradition."

"I hear you, but generally idiots like that cram it when they notice I'm bigger and stronger, unless they're running with their idiot pack." He tried to sound neutral, but his mind kept replaying what Dean said. He played both sides of the fence. Stuck in a blizzard with a guy that was hotter than sin; the possibilities had Sam's mind spinning.

He finished changing, hung his wet clothes up and padded back to the living room. Sitting next to the fire, he started to pull on the socks. He was still shivering, but now that he was in dry clothes, he'd quickly thaw.

Dean flicked open the blanket and draped it over his shoulders. "Need a warm up on the cider?" he asked. "I got some left over roast chicken if you're hungry?" Dean offered.

Sam looked up and took hold of the blanket, a little surprised but grateful. Giving the guy a smile, he nodded. "Actually, I'm starving. My drink's still warm though, don't need a warm up." Once the guy started heading to the kitchen, Sam stood, but couldn't bring himself to leave the warmth of the fire to follow him. "I'm really sorry. About putting you through all this trouble." 

"S'alright. You can chop wood tomorrow for the fireplace. I didn't have anything planned except for a dozen strippers who were going to drop by for an orgy. With this storm, doesn't look like they'll make it."

Dean opened up the small fridge and pulled out some chicken, gravy, and roasted potatoes and put everything in an iron skillet. He brought the skillet out to the fireplace and set it on a swing out shelf that he pushed into the fire. "It'll heat up faster than on the little electric stove."

"This must have been the address I'd been given. You mean the other eleven strippers didn't make it?" Sam asked, a slow grin spreading across his face. He'd never see this guy again, so why not flirt and make the best of it?

Dean glanced over his shoulder at the guy and pointed a finger at him. "Careful. I'll make you do the work of twelve strippers. After you've warmed up enough your bits aren't the size of a tadpole." He gave the man a mock serious look.

Throwing his head back, Sam laughed. Yes, he'd been right. This could be fun. "I'm sure I could muster up a bullfrog, at least." Lifting his mug, he took a few more swallows of the spicy concoction. Between the conversation, the drink, and the dry clothing, he was warming up.

He made his way over to the Christmas tree. Its flickering lights were the usual, but the ornaments were anything but standard. He touched one. A strange looking symbol fashioned out of iron. Then there was a photograph. Dean was in it, along with a man with a beard, and a few others. He reached for the beer can, then laughed. It was autographed by a porn star that Sam wasn't interested in, but heard a lot about from other guys. "Ole'?"

Dean smirked and shrugged. "My job takes me all sorts of unusual places, doing all sorts of unusual things. She was, ah, grateful, for my help and she was on my bucket list. What can I say. Fair warning, since you've had the rare and unique experience of seeing my Christmas tree, you have to make an ornament to put on it before you go. No sappy Merry Christmas shit though. As you can see, I don't exactly hold with traditional ornaments."

"I've never made an ornament, or put one on a tree," Sam mused. "This might be fun." There was only a small tinge of doubt in his voice, as he looked at the other unusual things decorating the tree. He found a card. "Huh," his expression reflected he was impressed. "A man of letters." He read the rest of the card out in perfect Latin. "I really don't understand the import," he said.

Dean gave another shrug as he stuck a wooden spoon into the skillet and stirred the food. "No reason you should. My grandfather was part of a society of scholars called the Men of Letters. There were women in it too, just a relatively small number. It's generally passed down through the bloodline. Far as I know, I'm the last living heir to it, but I could be wrong. That's the problem with secret societies. Too many damned secrets. Don't know much about the group honestly, but it sounds pretty cool to say that I'm a 'man of letters.'" Dean laughed and shook his head. "Starting with my GED. I think most of them would roll over in their graves to know a kid who didn't even graduate high school is the last of the line." 

"What's wrong with a GED? It just means you're too smart to have to attend all of High School," Sam said, taking one last look at the card, then dropping it. "So what's the purpose of this secret society, or is that a secret?" He was curious, and would probably google the hell out of it sometime.

"As I understand it, they were history's first real cryptozoologists. Recorded lore about ghosts, goblins, werewolves. Kept journals and books and crap. It's all been lost, which is probably for the best. They've been forgotten, like the things they studied, lost to the history they were obsessed about. So what about you, Sam the Stripper? What dark secrets have you got?"

"Other than my night job? No dark secrets," Sam said, slowly making his way over to the kitchen, and refilling his mug. "Graduated with a GED, lost my way for a while, and then went to college because you know, school loans were one way to get a roof over my head. Now I teach dead languages," he said with a huff. "Lemme fill yours," he said, reaching for Dean’s mug.

"Lost your way. Is that code for drugs and drunkenness? And what sort of languages do you know? Aside from Latin, obviously." Dean swung the shelf back out. The food in the skillet was sizzling. "Bring a plate. Top right cupboard. Silverware, drawer right below it."

"Yeah, maybe, probably," Sam answered, heading to the cupboard. "I teach Latin and ancient Greek. Sometimes Ancient Egyptian, when there is enough interest. But I also know several other languages." He put his plate next to Dean, his stomach growling at the smell of food. "Biblical Hebrew, Akkadian, ah... I'm letting my nerd show, aren't I? Pretend I didn't say any of that." 

"I apparently come from a long line of nerds. Thankfully, I take more after my mother, but why in hell did you decided to specialize in dead languages?"

“At the time? I guess I was hoping to work in some musty old library translating things and not dealing with people. But I got hooked onto the languages, and had an affinity for them. And I guess college was good for me. I met people and they weren't so bad." He smiled. "Like I said, I found myself." Taking the plate, he asked, "You gonna eat?" 

"Leftovers are called leftovers for a reason," Dean said, cocking an eyebrow at him. "Got some cornbread, too, if you want a piece." He picked up his mug and took a long sip. "Never went to college. No money, no interest. I travel the open road, picking up jobs here and there. Except for December. December, I'm here, if I can swing it. Nothing to worry about, just decompressing. Guess you're on winter break? Planning to hit the slopes?"

"Yeah. You snowboard?" Sam asked. "I've got an extra board. You're welcome to come with, if this blizzard ever lets up, and after I get my car towed." He dug his fork into his food, "It could help with the decompressing," he added, before taking a bite. "Mmm, good."

Dean laughed and shook his head. "Skateboarded in my youth, done a little cross country skiing, but that's about it. Looks kinda fun, but pretty sure I'd wipeout, or whatever snowboarders call it. 'Sides, I'm sure it costs money and, well, not something I'm rolling in. If money were clothes, I'd be walking around naked most times. Glad you like the food, plenty for a second helping if that's not enough. You might even convince me to part with a piece of pie with the right kinda bribery."

"I have an extra board and slope tickets. C'mon, it's the least I can do after all this." Sam waved around the room, and looked down at his food. "And if you like it, you can stay up there, at the hotel, with me, or come up during the days if you want." His gaze slid to the box sitting on the counter. The pie. Just what kind of bribery did Dean have in mind? 

Dean rubbed his chin. What the hell. "Okay, but if I break a leg or something, you're my nurse. And you'll have to teach me how to snowboard. And no laughing if I suck at it."

"Stripper, nurse, teacher... see, I'm a jack of all trades too, so we've got something in common." Grinning, Sam promised, "I'd never ever laugh..." Though his eyes said otherwise. "We'll start on the bunny hills, with the three year olds." Shoveling more food in his mouth, Sam realized that what had started as a really sucky day had turned out much better than he'd ever expected. He was having fun.

"Only if there are snow bunnies of the curvy or muscular variety," Dean said, passing him a glare. "Stripper, nurse, teacher, snowboarder, almost snowman, yeah, can't argue you're multi-talented. Jack of all trades? Don't know if you've earned that title yet."

"You did call me Jack," Sam pointedly reminded him. "And we'll work our way to finding snow bunnies." He ate some more. "Know how long the weather's supposed to last? You wouldn't have that newfangled thing known as a radio, would you?" He'd noticed the lack of a TV and Dean had already said he didn’t have internet, or it was down.

"The snowstorm is supposed to last until tomorrow about 4 pm. As far as a radio, Dude, we're in a valley in the middle of a full-blown storm. I got a weather radio, but even it's out. Regular radio dropped off yesterday. Think the external antenna I put up went down. Weather radio is over there. Feel free to try to pick up something. Last broadcast I got, the notes are in the notebook by it. You pick up anything, add to the notes. I got one of those little cool weather station set ups too." Dean grimaced. "I made a deal with the local yokels. They don't arrest me for stealing electricity if they could set up a weather station and if someone goes missing in the valley, I'm willing to go out on the snowmobile and see if I pick up any trace of them."

"Huh. And here I thought you were only _my_ snow angel," Sam sighed, taking a final fork full of food. "Tomorrow's Christmas. My being here, I guess it's wrecking your plans or traditions." He looked down at the empty plate, then stood up to take it to the sink.

Dean laughed. "I have never been accused of having wings before. And nah, my tradition is just to try to keep my feet up, watch some DVDs, drink, and sing some drunken Christmas songs that aren't too mushy or religious. And open my mystery gift I get every year." He nodded to the single present under the tree.

"Mystery gift?" Sam raised his brow as he washed his dish and set it down. "And who is it from? An old flame? The porn star? An anonymous admirer?" His interest was definitely piqued.

"Beats the hell outta me. Shows up in my P.O. Box right before Thanksgiving every year for the past seven years. Says it's from S. Claus and the postmark is the North Pole. Not many people have my mailing address, so probably some old friend of my dad's, or maybe someone I helped out that I forgot I gave the address to."

“And the gifts? Do they feel like they’re from someone who knows you, knows what you’d like?” Sam cocked his head. “Someone close?”

Dean glanced at the wrapped present. "The present always seems to be something I need that year, or something I saw that I thought was cool. But not stuff I'd typically mention to someone. So I dunno. Maybe I'm just on Santa's extra nice list.

Sam gave a snort. "Somehow I always ended up on Santa's bad list. Or forgotten list. Then again, I never rescued anyone from a snow storm so you must deserve it." Leaving the kitchen, he asked, "Mind if we go back inside, to the fire?"

"Still cold in your bones?" Dean stood. "I see you're one of those types. The type who asks permission once you're already in the middle of doing it. That probably contributed to the naughty list."

Taken aback, Sam looked back at Dean and saw he was joking. And there was the fact that he was right, he often did do what he wanted and belatedly asked permission. 

Dean followed Sam in and settled back on the couch. "I may not have gotten much in the way of Christmas, but my dad didn't usually completely forget. Sometimes it was just a couple days late if he was out...on a job. Your family flat out forgot you? Dude, that sucks."

"Your dad was late for Christmas? I didn't know that happened," Sam said. His childhood imaginings of everyone else's perfect Christmas were unrealistic, and yet hard to shake. "I had foster parents... I have a feeling they drank any money meant for toys or gifts." He shrugged. He went to stand in front of the fire. He wasn't cold anymore, but he was enjoying the heat. 

"Yeah, well my Christmas holidays and stuff weren't like most people's I'm guessing, and if Dad had a job, it was priority. I got that. Same with birthdays and Easter egg hunts, Halloween, Fourth of July, any of that. Though Veteran's Day was kinda the exception. Usually got to see at least part of a parade for that. Dad was a Marine." Dean was silent for a moment, lost in his own thoughts. "So, foster kid. I got sent off once to Juvie for a couple months." He gave a small bark of laughter. "Most normal life I ever had, that handful of weeks.”

"Seriously?" Sam shook his head. "My stint at juvie was no ball. At least at the homes, I could get away from the people in charge." 

“Did your parents die, or were you put up for adoption when you were a baby?" 

“Neither.” Reaching for his drink, Sam took a sip. "I guess you might say I was abandoned. They found me at a gas station, but I don't remember. I just remember the nice lady they took me to at some... I think she was at a bar, or something," Sam said, screwing his face up as he tried to remember. "She was real nice and kept me until the authorities came. Her daughter got in trouble for playing with a gun, that's about all I remember," he chuckled. "That and the fact that the girl was about my age and she owned a gun."

Dean shook his head. "Just left at some gas station. Damn, that's gotta mess with your head. Sorry. You ever pursue it, try to find out what really happened? Or figure best to let sleeping dogs lie?"

"Nah, I didn't see the point. They weren't there when I needed them, and now, I don't need them. It was a big deal then, but not anymore." It was the truth, he didn't think that much about the past anymore. "So, your secret recipe for the cider... I gotta have it," he said, lifting his cup.

"My secret recipe? Davonport's spiced and spiked mulled cider." Dean chuckled. "Davonport's supply store in Rafferty has it. I usually buy a good 10 gallons for the season. Best cider I've ever found and believe me, I've tried a lot."

"I think they just found themselves a new customer." Sam walked to the coffee table, set his cup down, and then sat down in the comfortable wing chair. "I don't mind if you go back to watching your movie," he said, nodding toward Dean's lap top, still sitting on the sofa right next to Dean. 

Dean glanced at the movie. "Honestly? You're a lot more interesting to watch." He gave a small waggle of his eyebrows. "We could play cards or something if you want. Or you could try to bribe some pie away from me."

"I am?" Sam's heart gave a kick in his chest. He gave a little smile and didn't look away, or say anything else for a beat, making it clear he felt the same. "That pie of yours, it must be something real special, since you keep teasing me with it." He ran his hand over his face, then gave a nod. "How about we play cards or scrabble, and for each winning hand or higher word, I get a bite. I'm afraid anything I could have bribed you with is in my car." 

"All pie is special. But this is Davenport's pie, too. If you think their cider is awesome..." Dean glanced Sam up and down. "I think you have all you need to bribe me, if you're really interested in a taste. And the GED guy play scrabble with a college prof. Oh yeah. That's not stacking the deck. Cards. I might have a prayer at keeping my pie if we play cards. I've got a dart board too, if that's more your style."

"Dude, I'm not trying to steal all of your pie. I just want to share it with you," Sam snickered. "And pie or no pie, anything I have on me, it's yours." He returned Dean's heated gaze, then stood up. "Darts. You've got a gun, which means you've got good aim. Like that's not stacking the deck, but I'm game. Let's get this started so we can get on to dessert." 

"Actually, everything you currently have on you is mine. Your clothes are still drying," Dean said, smirking at the handsome man. "Darts it is."

Pushing himself to his feet, Dean walked over to a cabinet and opened the doors, revealing a nice, if well-used, dart board. He pulled out his favorite darts, then motioned for Sam to join him. "Got a selection of weights and flights you can choose from. Pick your poison and your game," he said, picking up the chalk and writing down the first initial of their names on the chalkboard by the dart board.

Heat washed over Sam at Dean's comment about his clothes. "Why do I have the feeling I'm in a pile of trouble?" Sam caught himself checking out Dean's ass as the man bent over and then when he turned his back to him. Clearing his throat, he started to pick through the darts. 

Dean gave a slight shake of his head. "No trouble is allowed in this cabin today. And just so you know, you are not beholden to me for anything. In other words, if I say or do anything you aren't comfortable with, don't be afraid to tell me to fuck off. We clear?"

"Dean. No warnings needed," Sam answered, giving the guy a slow smile. "Your eyes are amazing, and you’re hotter than the fire. Clear enough?"

Dean grinned back at Sam. "Clear. And if you need any extra warming up, you let me know. I'll be happy to help you in that area. Find some decent darts?" he asked and pointed down at the mark on the floor for where to stand for throwing the darts.

"I'll definitely want some warming up, but first things first. I gotta earn myself the right to some pie." Sam held up the three darts for Dean to see, then gave a soft laugh at the tape on the floor. "This place is definitely your man cave."

Dean lightly thumped his chest and grunted. "Dean's man cave. Happy to share cave with long-haired hippie." 

After they warmed up a few rounds, they began playing in earnest. Dean was good at darts, good enough to hustle people for tidy sums of money, but Sam was no slacker at the game.

"Damn, maybe we should have played Scrabble," Dean muttered as he looked at the score.

"Used to throw pocket knives and daggers as a kid. It's all coming back now," Sam said, taking aim, determined to at least not fall too far behind Dean's score. Tossing the dart, he gave a lopsided smile. "I can almost taste it..."

"Yeah keep thinking that," Dean said taking careful aim, cursing vehemently when his bulls eye dart bounced off the ring of metal instead of burying itself in the board. That seemed to throw him off and his next two darts failed to score.

"I think you're desperately trying to give away your pie," Sam laughed, slapping Dean on the back. His palm tingled from the sensation of Dean's body heat, causing Sam to falter. Catching himself, he tried to collect his thoughts and concentrate. 

As he took aim, his gaze slid to Dean, just in time to catch the guy wetting his lips with his tongue. "Cut that out. No cheating," he warned, feeling the heat creeping up his neck and cheeks. He was gonna do this. He was gonna win.

"Who's cheating?" Dean asked, realizing suddenly just how Sam's gaze kept drifting to him. He gave a big stretch, hands over his head, making sure his t-shirt pulled up enough to show a sliver a skin.

Sam's fingers tightened around the dart as he fought off the desire to trace his fingers across the narrow stretch of skin revealed by Dean's movement. "Jerk," he said, very distinctly, turning his head away, aiming, and throwing the dart.

Dean's gaze followed the dart. Double Bull. Sonuvabitch. "Gotta say, you work well under pressure." He let his arms fall back to his side and moved around behind Sam, giving a long appreciative look to his backside while Sam made his next throw. He heard the distinct sound of dart rubbing against dart. One more bull and Sam was going to win the game. Dean leaned in close and breathed in Sam's ear, "Why don't you just kiss me instead."

Dean's hot breath skimmed across Sam's sensitive skin, sending a delicious shiver down his back. His breath hitched. His lips burned for that kiss, a kiss he'd been yearning for ever since they'd signaled their interest in each other. Swallowing, he turned his head slightly to the side, looking at Dean from under his lashes. "Seriously? Now?" He paused for the span of a heartbeat. "Call it a draw," he said, his voice husky with need.

"You throw that dart, you get a bite of pie. You don't, you get to kiss me," Dean said. "We can always finish the game later, you know." It wasn't that Dean really cared about losing, but he was enjoying seeing how much he could distract Sam. And he was a little curious if Sam was more intent on winning than interested in him at the moment. It told a lot about a man, what he put first.

"I know. But I also know what you're doing, trying to get me off my winning streak." Sam slowly turned all the way around, dropping the dart onto a table and closing his arm around Dean's waist. "But what the hell... I'm not really a huge fan of pie," he admitted, just before he brought his mouth down over Dean's. He kissed him lightly at first, learning the contours of Dean's firm, soft lips. Then he ran the tip of his tongue across the seam of Dean's lips, asking entrance. 

Dean opened his mouth to let Sam in. A man who had his priorities straight, yeah he liked that. He could taste the cider in Sam's mouth, liking the slightly sweet, spicy flavor it added to Sam. Holy shit. He was going to lucky on Christmas Eve. When was the last time that had happened? And with a looker like Sam?

He wrapped his arms around Sam's waist, gently caressing his back, exploring the muscular ridges he could feel through the fabric as their tongues gently wrapped and twisted with each other's. First one to groan loses, first one to groan loses, he kept telling himself, but couldn't help it. A soft groan sounded in his throat.

The low sound drew a sharp response from Sam, making him cup the back of Dean's head and deepen the kiss. From the moment he'd set eyes on this man, he'd felt like he'd walked into some fantasy. Any moment, he'd expected to wake from dreams of taking shelter from a snowstorm in a cabin with an extremely good looking guy, whose features were both rugged and delicate at the same time. He wasn't going to allow it, this, to slip away. Instead, he would savor every moment, everything that Dean gave him. And the way this man could kiss... Sam knew he'd never forget this night. Ever.

The way Sam was kissing him now, possessively, aggressively, yeah, Dean liked it. He slid his hands up under Sam's shirt wanting to feel the warm skin against his hands. He shifted subtly so they were closer together, so their groins could brush against one another. Heat was pooling fast enough in his groin he was damned near light-headed, or maybe that was just from kissing Sam and forgetting to breathe. God knew, he didn't want to stop kissing the man.

The sensations from Dean pressing against him drew a deep groan from Sam. His heart was already pounding so hard he could hear the blood rushing through his system and roaring in his ears. And when Dean's warm, calloused palms skittered across his skin, Sam's gut tightened. He was getting hard, so damned hard, and they'd barely done anything. He didn't want to rush things, to mess this up. Yet, he couldn't help his reactions to this man, or the fact that he left logic behind, and slowly walked Dean backwards toward the couch. "That pie you keep touting, I don't think it can hold a candle to this," he whispered, between ragged breaths. 

Dean let Sam move them, debating whether the living room or bedroom would be best. He decided he liked the idea of having a Christmas tree and roaring fire, and hell, wild sex on the floor of the cabin would be perfect. They could move to the bedroom later.

"The pie is good, but at the moment, I think you have a different appetite you need to take care of. I know I do.” He began kissing Sam again, almost feverishly. 

"Mmmm," Sam agreed, sliding his hand down Dean's back, and over his ass, molding him close for a long moment, letting him feel the proof of his appetite. Then he drew him down onto the couch, pressing him back against its arm as he continued to kiss him. When he ran out of breath, he lifted his head and looked down at Dean's slightly flushed face and swollen lips. 

"This... you... are well worth risking death in a snow storm," he whispered in Latin, his gaze locking with Dean's.

"Damned straight I am," Dean said, smirking. After giving it a moment of thought, he spoke in Aramaic, "Any tent in a storm can be a dangerous option. Be glad it was mine you found." After a slight shrug he said, "Don't tell me my accent is horrible. I know it is. Besides, I read it better than I speak it. Anyone ever tell you that you have one really nice ass?"

"I'd be the last person to criticize anyone who speaks Aramaic. I think you're letting your smarts show, Mr. GED," he said, giving Dean a look, then smiling at his comment. "Do I? You can tell even with clothes on? _Your clothes_ ," he taunted, leaning in and brushing Dean's lips with his own.

"Who says I didn't get a look while you were changing. You left the door open and I have secret cameras everywhere," Dean said, giving Sam's ass a light smack. "Oh yeah, a real nice ass."

Sam allowed the smack to propel him forward, so he ground his hips against Dean's. "Nice... everything," he whispered, making it clear he was talking about Dean.

(author's note: chapter 1 of 3)


	2. Chapter 2

Sam started to kiss Dean again, sucking his lower lip between his own lips. Then he slanted his mouth over Dean's and started another heated kissing session, cupping the man's jaw and moving his face from side to side. His kisses grew more intense as a hard knot of desire blossomed low in his belly. Groaning, he moved his mouth along Dean's neck, then lifted off slightly, to pull Dean's over-shirt off, then his tee shirt up over his head. 

The sight of Dean, shirtless, with golden lights playing across his chest and abs, and the heat in his eyes, had Sam drawing a sharp breath. "Fuck..." he breathed, caressing Dean's shoulders and upper arms. 

Slowly, he lowered his head and started to lick and kiss hot trails along Dean's chest. Each tightening and flexing of Dean's muscles under his lips sent heat spiraling through him. He could barely believe how badly he wanted the guy.

Damn the guy could kiss. That thought just keep repeating inside Dean's head. Then when Sam pulled off his shirts and his mouth began wandering over him, he reacted to every hot breath, every brush of his lips, everything and anything the man did to him. He was rock hard and leaking already and they'd barely gotten started.  
Dean's fingers curled around the bottom of the sweatshirt Sam was in and began tugging it up, working it off of Sam. When Sam's nipples appeared, Dean curled up, running his tongue over each one in turn before he finished pulling the shirt off and tossing it aside.  
He ran his hands over Sam's chest, his thumbs stopping to caressing those nipples he'd just licked across. "Damn, if I’d known professors were this hot, I might have reconsidered college."

Sam groaned with pleasure, gasping for air. "And if you'd been in my class, I have a feeling I'd have ended up on admin leave." His eyelashes fluttered shut for a moment as he enjoyed Dean's touches. 

Before Dean made him forget everything, Sam slipped off the couch and knelt on the floor, between Dean's thighs. He ran his hands up from Dean's knees to his hips and back, exploring his body, the way he felt, the way he tensed and relaxed. He leaned in, kissing him again, and then making his way down his chest. He lingered over his nipples, running his tongue in circles over them until they tightened into buds and he could suck on them. 

Slowly, Sam moved over the expanse of Dean's abs, descending towards the edge of the waistband of his jeans. 

"Admin leave. You saying you'd be a naughty prof?" Dean's eyes glazed over for a moment as he thought about some of the porn movies he'd seen. "Mmm, always did like the college movies. Especially the ones with the prof being the innocent young man. You an innocent..." Dean's words faded into a groan as Sam teased his nipples. "No," he gasped, "Not innocent."

Dean couldn't help but look down as Sam's mouth drifted lower to the clasp of his jeans. "And just how naughty a prof are you?"

"I could get my glasses, look at you like this," he said, giving Dean a wide-eyed innocent and befuddled look, "and say, are you sure you want me to touch you there? With my... mouth?"

He wiped the expression off his face, and gave Dean a distinctly heated look. "Or, I could just get straight to the naughty," he said, lowering his head and using his teeth to undo the button, and to excruciatingly slowly drag Dean's zipper down.

Dean liked the big-eyed innocent look, like something out of some of the anime porn he liked to watch, but any start of nodding his approval ceased with the heated look and Sam's words. When Sam started to undo his pants using his mouth, Dean's head fell back and he groaned. "Aw, fuck...I'm gonna come just watching you," he said, squirming a little, and tightening his thighs against Sam's rock hard body. He couldn't keep his eyes off Sam though and his gaze came back to watch. "Naughty prof. I vote for naughty prof," he said, his breaths coming faster.

"The naughty professor gets the pie," Sam said, slowly easing Dean's jeans down to his thighs and reaching inside his shorts to free him. Dean's cock was already so thick and hard, its tip dribbling precum, Sam didn't have to wait. Grasping his cock, he pumped his fist only a few times before lowering his head and running the flat of his tongue in circles over his tip. "Sweet," he whispered, sucking Dean’s crown into his mouth, rolling it around, pressing it against the roof of his mouth and his inner cheeks.

"Some of the pie," Dean managed to get out. Well, it was pie after all. His eyes practically rolled back in his head when Sam gripped him just right and, before Dean had fully absorbed that warm touching sensation, he felt Sam's tongue tasting him. His gaze locked on Sam and watched as his tip disappeared into his mouth. "Ungh...oh my fucking god," he gasped, fighting to keep his hips motionless, his fingers digging into the fabric of the couch so he didn't grab Sam's hair and tug.

Hearing the urgency in Dean's voice, Sam squeezed him a few times and took more of him into his mouth. He was still taking his time, learning how Dean felt and tasted, and taking in his reactions. Only when he was ready, he wrapped his lips tight around Dean's cock, and started to move up and down his shaft. Completely focused on Dean's reactions, he followed the pace set by the small jerks of Dean's hips, and the squeezing motions of Dean's hands and fingers digging into the couch.

Sam was perfect, perfectly skilled, perfectly sensitive, perfectly paced. Dean's groans spilled out freely, both groaning from how exquisite it felt and the difficulty of keeping his hips as motionless as he could. "An A-plus, in naughtiness," Dean gasped. "An A-plus in killing me so awesomely." Dean wasn't sure how much more he could take, but he was willing to try to stretch it out for as long as he could

Dean's words, the way he forced them out, sent heat spiraling through Sam. He sensed Dean was holding back, but he wanted... no needed, this man to be out of control. Pulling his lips off, he whispered "shshsh," to cut off any protests. In a matter of seconds, he had Dean's shoes off, then his pant stripped completely off him.  
Seeing Dean's flushed cock pressing up against his stomach, knowing how badly Dean needed to feel some pressure, Sam groaned. Running his hands under Dean's knees, he suddenly pulled him to the edge of the couch, hooking Dean's legs over his shoulders. "I don't mind if you let go... play rough," he said, eyes locking with Dean's. He knew how vulnerable and exposed Dean must feel right now, but the way Dean stared back at him and didn't shy away had Sam tied up in knots. Grasping Dean's cock in his fist, he went down on it with no prelude. He swallowed Dean down, and started to move up and down his shaft, moving as fast as he had been before.

Dean slapped his hand down on the couch when Sam pulled off. Although Sam shushed him, he still cursed under his breath and bit back the pleas or orders to get back to it. He hardly noticed Sam pulled off his pants. His gaze was locked on that mouth, those sweet lips he desperately wanted back on his cock. He let Sam position him anyway he pleased.

When Sam went right back to it, Dean gave a shout. Sam didn't mind if he played rough? He assumed Sam would stop him if he went too far. With Sam bobbing up and down, Dean locked his ankles behind Sam’s back and began thrusting into Sam's mouth. Once he was sure Sam could take it, he wrapped his fingers in those dark silken strands and began to thrust, fucking Sam's mouth with abandon, but making sure to pull all the way out occasionally so Sam could draw in a breath.

It couldn't have been more perfect, the way they both went for it. Sam gave Dean everything he had, holding his breath for as long as he could, taking as much of Dean as possible. Each time Dean's legs drew him close, or his fingers tugged at his hair, heat spiraled through Sam. The sounds tumbling from Dean's lips affected him just as strongly. He pushed as hard as Dean, getting him closer and closer to release. His own cock got so hard and painful, he found himself rubbing against the sofa, seeking relief. It was so intense, the feelings rushing through him, that he found himself close to the edge, ready to come in his pants.

Dean went along for the ride, letting Sam carry him. He fucked, he thrashed, he moaned, he pulled and pushed and tugged. Until it finally happened. He felt his balls tighten and, from between teeth all but locked together, he cried out Sam's name, a sound of ecstasy and anguish as he came his brains out.

Dean's noisy climax pushed Sam over the edge. He registered a pounding noise, and barely had time to realize he'd been pushing his hips against the couch so hard, it was banging against the wall. Mouth still clamped around Dean's cock, he gave a loud groan, white light exploding behind his eye lids as he came hard inside his pants.

"Holy..." He went slack against Dean, releasing his cock, and resting his face against Dean's chest, taking labored breaths. "I hope..." he let out a hot breath, "you have extra sweats..." Any embarrassment Sam might have felt was outweighed by his relief at having found release.

Dean gave a tired bark of laughter. "Yeah. But why don't we relocate to the bedroom? Fire is going in there and mattress pad is heated. And Dude. You're a machine. And I mean that with the best possible definition. Jesus..." Dean still panted, his eyes half-closed. That was the best fucking blow job he'd had in a very very long time.

"Mmm, okay. But seriously, it's not me. You inspire me... this..." he lifted a hand and dropped it. "Damn... if you were my student, I don't think I'd get any teaching done." Seeking out Dean's mouth, he kissed him slowly, taking his time, enjoying himself. 

When he finally straightened, he smiled. "If I'd known this is what happens when you get caught in a blizzard on Christmas Eve, I’d have been chasing storms long ago."

After the slow wonderful kiss, Dean gave a satisfied sigh. "Miracles happen on Christmas Eve, right? I never believed any of that bullshit, but now...yeah, I might change my mind. I'm the luckiest guy in these mountains right now. He looked into Sam's beautiful eyes. "You've got the most gorgeous eyes..." Dean blinked. "I did not just say that. That's chick-flick 101 compliments." He made a face. "But damned if it isn't the truth." He pulled Sam down into another kiss.

Seeing as he'd told Dean the same thing about Dean's eyes earlier in the evening, Sam wasn't complaining. He settled down into a more comfortable position as they fell back into another kiss, then another. It struck him that not only had he found someone better than any male ski bunny he might have hooked up with over the next week, but as different as they were, they were strangely compatible and had similar backgrounds and interests. 

A log in the fire snapped. Sam looked up, smiling a little, and very aware that he had his arms around a completely naked and very hot Dean, in the perfect setting. "I don't suppose you every signed up at match.com?" He cocked his head. "No wonder I struck out." He was already looking forward to going snowboarding and out for a steak dinner, but he found himself hoping for more. It was probably too soon to test those waters out yet, but he couldn't help feeling a sense of excitement, a feeling that he was not all too familiar with when it came to relationships.

Chuckling, Dean shook his head. "Can't say I ever really had trouble finding a companion for the night." He ran his fingers through the sweat-soaked locks of Sam's hair. "Eleven months out of the year I'm on the road, traveling. Usually never in a place longer than a week. Three at the outside if things aren't falling into place. I get breaks in between usually, but you never know when another job will pop up and where it'll be. I can't imagine living in a house, and having a nine to five job. This," he gave a small wave at the cabin's interior. "Closest I've ever had to a home. Guess that's all kinda weird sounding to you, huh?"

"I guess our lives are what we make of them." Sam was silent for a moment, taking Dean's revelations as Dean's way of warning him not to expect more. He was disappointed, but he couldn't fault the guy for just wanting a companion for the night. "I'm on the other end of the spectrum. I rarely move these days, but I..." He rolled his eyes at himself, slowly sitting up. "How about I get both of us a drink," he offered. 

"Yeah, I'll take a drink, but what were you going to say, you rarely move these days but what?" Dean asked, dragging his fingers along Sam's side. "And bring in the pie. I think you worked my appetite up for a different kinda dessert than what you just gave me."

"Nothing important." He smiled, "Wow... you're gonna share, that's really something. I better get that pie before you change your mind." Chuckling, Sam headed for the kitchen. 

He found the unopened pie box, and grabbed a couple plates and utensils. Bringing them to the coffee table, he gave Dean a look. "All this pie better not disappear before I'm back." Seeing that Dean was still stark naked on the couch, he let his gaze travel over every inch of his body and smirked slightly as he headed back to the kitchen for drinks.

"Hey, I offered to share so I don't feel like I hafta gobble it all down. I can be polite and wait. There's coffee if you'd rather have that with the pie. To your left. Should still be hot and we can always spike it with you choice of alcohol." Dean began opening the box and folded the lid back. "And I'm still waiting to hear this unimportant thing. C'mon, 'fess up, prof or I'll declare take-backs on the pie." He smacked his lips. Dutch apple pie was one of his favorites. He loved the rich crumbles on top of it.

"So I went from hippie back to prof... that's good, I guess." Sam returned with coffee for both of them, then sat down next to Dean. His gaze naturally followed the progression of the fork, to Dean's lips, and he watched as Dean made good on his promise to make love to his food. "I think I'm gonna come, and I haven't even gotten a taste," Sam huffed, reaching for his own fork.

"Your own fault," Dean said around a mouthful. "And you will make love to it too. Guaranty it." Dean cut off another piece and watched as Sam put the first bite into his mouth. "See, told you. Best damned pie anywhere."

"It's the best pie I've tried, I'll give you that," Sam said. He didn't have a huge sweet tooth, but Dean had apparently worked up his appetite. He took another bite, smiling at the way Dean was eating. "You keep that up, and you're not finishing dessert," he threatened.

"Dude, you would be very hard pressed, once I've started, to make me stop. But," he added, "I have no reason to doubt once you got me going, eating pie would not be in the forefront of my mind. And you still haven't answered my question."

"Huh?" Sam raised his brow, "Oh. Told you, it's nothing. Just, I guess... I've got a home, but I never feel 'at home,' if that makes sense." Maybe it was because he'd lost his home as a child, and never found one with any of his foster parents. Maybe he was looking for something that didn't exist. "I'm sure there's some psychobabble that explains it, but..." he gave a shrug. Digging his fork into the crumbly parts of the pie, he ate another mouthful.

"Home is where the heart is. Maybe you need a dog or cat to come home to. Only real home I ever had I guess is my car. I pretty much grew up in it. Spent more hours in it than inside any four walls. Maybe...maybe you just haven't found the right place yet. You should take a-whaddaya call it?--sabbatical. A sabbatical for Sammy. Get out there, explore, find the place or the person or the thing that you're missing. And I don't think that's dumb or just nothing. I get it. I really get it." Dean took a long sip of the coffee. "So you study all these dead languages. What exactly do you study? What do you read or research or whatever?"

Sam had been sure no one would understand what he was getting at, but Dean just set him straight and it was a bit of a relief. "Maybe I will. Get a pet. Maybe a cat with big green eyes and a habit of getting its nose in the cream," he said, the corners of his lips quirking up at the sight of the cream on Dean's lips, and the way the guy swept his tongue across his mouth to lick it up.

"I don't want to bore you. Most people's eyes glaze over. Why don't you tell me what you're doing driving around the country instead. I'm sure your adventures are far more exciting." 

Dean gave him a look. "I speak Sanskrit. Not like I've got room to talk. If you start to bore me, I'll let you know it. So c'mon, do you have a focus to what you read? Trying to find out where the Amazons really lived, or the lost treasures of ancient empires? Gimme a clue. Then maybe I'll tell you a little about my boring life of being on the road 24/7." Dean eyed the pie, trying to decide if he wanted a second piece. Well, maybe half a piece wouldn't hurt.

"I guess that's true," Sam laughed. "I read whatever I can get my hands on. Work on translations of old texts, and... Somehow I end up doing a lot of contract type translations of some really freaky stuff." He gave a self-conscious laugh. "I once translated some old ritual... like for a spell," he rolled his eyes, "and since then I get a lot of kooky inquiries, like my name got passed around or something. I mean, it's all interesting stuff, and I really dig into various lores and myths to get people some answers to questions that a text might raise, but there's a dance to it. They're pretending they need it for some movie script, or research project, or news article... And I'm pretending I believe they need it for a movie, when I know damned well they believe in the stuff."

Dean straightened, almost spilling his coffee. "Holy crap. You're The Professor!" he blurted out without meaning to. Seeing Sam's confused look, Dean wanted to kick himself. He set his coffee down and dry scrubbed his face, and then ran his fingers through his still damp hair. "Ah, want some more pie?" Dean asked as innocently as he could manage.

"No." Sam set his empty plate down and searched Dean's face. "You said ‘The Professor.’" He let the silent question hang, and when it didn't seem like Dean would answer it, he raised a brow. That gave way to a look of horror at having put his foot into his own mouth. "Don't tell me... you're one of the people who hits me up with those kooky... er... interesting questions."

Dean let his head fall forward as he shook it. "Yeah. I'm one of the kooks. We usually leave it to Bobby or one of the other key researchers to contact you, but sometimes we gotta call you direct." He gave a soft sigh. "You know, we could totally forget any of this came up, and retreat to the bedroom for some really hot sex, or...I could at least pull my pants on, pour us both a couple stiff drinks and I can tell you about hunters, the crazies you help as 'The Professor'."

Sam gave Dean a contemplative look. "Now I'm torn," he gave a soft laugh. "I don't mind the kooky questions. Seriously, they're fun to deal with and I didn't mean the people... you are..." Seeing he could get himself in trouble this way, he added, "I opt for the bedroom." 

Dean broke into laughter. "Yeah you did, and that's okay. I've been called a helluva lot worse than crazy." Dean closed the box the pie was in and pushed himself to his feet. Holding out a hand to Sam, he gave him a grin. "C'mon. I like the bedroom option. And for what it's worth, we respect the hell out of your mad research skills and translations."

He locked gazes with Sam. "I know you don't know the details, maybe don't wanna know, but Sam, you've helped a lot of people and saved some lives, too. Believe it's real, or don't believe it, just keep being the professor. And come have hot wild sex with me.”

Sam really was torn. He was naturally curious, and the things Dean said made him want to ask a helluva lot of questions. "I do want to know, but..." his gaze traveled slowly down over Dean's backside. "First things first... I want to cash in on your promise of hot wild sex. And we can talk in the morning, after coffee... when I'm ready to think before I talk."

He took the hand Dean offered, then tugged him close, kissing his neck. Desire instantly flared through him, and he knew he was ready for more. "C'mon, take me to bed," he demanded, raising his face, his eyes burning for Dean.

Dean smiled at Sam and tugged him down the hallway to the main bedroom. The fire was already well stoked, the fireplace backing up to the bathroom just as the other fireplace did. Dean had turned on the mattress heating pad earlier, thinking he might need to wrap Sam up in it if the guy didn't warm up from being half frozen.

He glanced at the damp spot on the sweats Sam was still wearing and chuckled. Pulling Sam up against his naked body, he gave him an intense kiss. When he let Sam breath again, he whispered in his ear, "Why don't you clean up in the bathroom, leave the shorts and sweats in there, and then come see the Christmas present I have for you."

"And here I thought I'd already unwrapped and seen my Christmas present." Clinging to Dean for just another minute while he collected himself, Sam caressed Dean's firm ass. "You're just full of surprises, mountain man."

Reluctantly, he let Dean go and backed into the bathroom. It didn't take him long to clean up and quickly hand wash the stains on the sweats. "Ready or not..." he called out, walking out of the bathroom stark naked.

Dean hummed a bit to himself as Sam disappeared into the bathroom. He found a box he dumped out then tossed in some quick release cuffs, a red silk tie, a couple black silk ties, some lube, and some high quality flavored oils. Using a piece of string, he tied it around the box, then settled himself on the bed, a pillow behind him and the box positioned between his legs. When he heard Sam walking out of the bathroom, his eyes were on the doorway.

"Holy crap," he murmured, seeing Sam in his full glory. The man was gorgeous, head to toe.

As he approached, Sam’s gaze moved to the box bracketed by Dean's long legs. "Why didn't anyone ever tell me Santa comes in your shape and size?" he demanded, his eyes sweeping along Dean's body to meet his startling green eyes. 

Slowly, he climbed onto the bed, crawling on his elbows and knees until he was looking down at the box. He played with the string for a moment, his eyes going to Dean's once again. "A snake isn't gonna jump out at me, is it?"

"Nope. Though after you empty the box, we could cut a hole in it and I'll stick my hand inside and give you a jack-in-the-box." Dean smirked. "And I am so not old enough to be Santa Claus. Just saying."

Sam choked, then started to cough, glaring at Dean for making the joke that made him lose his cool. When he was able to speak, all he said was, "You'd make a red hot Santa, just saying..."

Unknotting the string and dropping it, Sam pulled the lid off the box. He hadn't known what to expect, maybe another slice of pie or something was his only thought. The sight of the toys inside made his mouth go dry.

He glanced at Dean, licked his lips and started digging through the items. He selected the vanilla flavored oil, and the silk scarves. Then he lifted the cuffs and drew in a breath. "I haven't... but I'd like to," he admitted.

"Everything is optional, and those are quick release cuffs. The wearer can release them with a flick of those little levers. So the real question is, if you want to play a little, you want tied up or want me tied up. Only two things. All knots have to be quick release and I'm fine with bareback if you promise me you're clean. I know I'm free and clear." Dean didn't want to pressure the guy and he also didn't want to be at the mercy of a complete stranger. Yeah, the guy had picked up silver and drank some holy water, but hell humans could be a lot more dangerous than some monsters.

"I'm clean," Sam answered, a slow smile tugging at his lips. Leaving the box where it was, between Dean's legs, he made his way up Dean's body, letting his mouth touch down on his abs, and stomach, and chest. By the time he slid his mouth up the side of Dean's neck, his lips were aching for another burning hot kiss from this man.

Even as he brought his mouth down over Dean's, he wasn't completely certain this wasn't some dream. Maybe he'd gotten to the resort and had too much to drink. Maybe he was sitting in front of the TV, drunk, and imagining all this.

Dean wrapped his arms around Sam, his palms running slowly up and down Sam's back as he kissed him. He liked the feel of Sam, the warmth, the laughter in the man's eyes. He spent so much of his time talking to people who had suffered loss and tragedy, or that he was snookering out of their money, that he didn't usually get time alone with a normal...okay, semi-normal guy. Even as his tongue slipped into Sam's mouth, he knew there was something extra special about this guy. Somehow, he wouldn't be surprised if he woke up Christmas morn only to discover the guy was nothing but a drunken wish.

As Dean's tongue invaded his mouth, Sam groaned softly, cupping the side of Dean's face and running his thumb back and forth over his cheekbone. He rolled his tongue around Dean's, starting a game of cat and mouse. He was going to enjoy every moment of this, and he wasn't rushing things. He was committing it all to memory. The way Dean tasted, like sweet apple pie and smoky whiskey. The way he smelled, fresh and clean, like the outdoors on a snowy December day. And how he felt, warm and hard under him, and how his large, calloused hands moved over his back ever so surely. By the time their lips parted, Sam's head was spinning, his heart racing out of control. "Damn... you're really something, Dean Winchester," he whispered huskily, already hungry for another kiss.

"All I can say is a kiss takes two, you know?" Dean said, smiling at Sam as he caught his breath. He pulled Sam back down into another leisurely kiss, his hands beginning to wander further from Sam's back. He reached down to cup the globes of Sam's ass, his fingers boldly investigating the crack between them, then drifted along Sam's sides, slowly sliding his fingers up, rib by rib as if counting them. Brushing his hand lightly over Sam's nipple, the stroke of his hand carried down to Sam's cock which he fingered lightly, exploring it as thoroughly as he was exploring every other part of Sam's body.

A jolt of heat arced through Sam, causing his hips to jerk the instant Dean's hand found his cock. A low groan broke from him as he tried to gain some semblance of control despite the urgent ache between his legs. He let out a few hot breaths, then reached for the flavored lotion. He was aware, oh so sharply aware, of the sensations Dean's hand was so easily sending through him. He had to find something else to concentrate on, and it was exactly what he was doing. 

Rolling a little further off Dean, though not enough to be out of reach because nothing on Earth could make him give up Dean's touch, Sam poured some of the oil down the center of Dean's chest. The shiny liquid spread, rivulets dripping off Dean's chest and stomach. Sam dipped his tongue in a liquid pool, then moved to kiss Dean on the lips, pushing his tongue inside his mouth. It was a brief kiss, just to give Dean a taste. 

Then Sam lowered his mouth over Dean again and started to lick and kiss, smiling because he didn't even need the vanilla flavoring as an incentive. The way this man felt and tasted, Sam could make love to him all night long without complaint.

Dean dragged a finger through some of the rivulets of oil, then used that finger to begin to circle and toy with Sam's flat nipple even as his other hand slid deeper under Sam's cock to find his sac. Dean's breath caught a little as he fingered them, gently squeezing, weighing them and rolling them between his fingers. His fingers dipped behind them briefly brushing over Sam's hole, then slid forward, running straight up the underside of Sam's ever-thickening dick.

"Mmm, I think you like me," Dean whispered, then sucked Sam's tongue into his mouth, his tongue rolling around Sam's as his forefinger and thumb danced and twisted along Sam's length. He occasionally sucked hard on Sam's tongue and when he did, he wrapped his fingers around Sam's cock and gave a squeeze and light tug, letting his hand slide along the warm velvet rod before thumbing his slit with the most delicate touch of perfection.

"Oh... God... uh..." Sam spoke incoherently against Dean's mouth, feeling like the world was sliding away. "Jes..." Pulling his lips away, he stared at Dean, then dropped his gaze to Dean's hand on him, then looked up again. "Probably should use the cuffs on me now or..." Yeah, the urge to take Dean was building faster than he wanted it to. 

"We have all night. It can go any way we want it to." Even as Dean said those words, he pulled the box up closer and reached into it, pulling out the cuffs. Kissing Sam, his slipped one cuff around Sam's wrist and slowly raised his hand up to the headboard. With deft fingers, he cuffed the man's hand to a bar there. Taking out a silk tie, he slipped one loop around Sam's wrist, tugged it through and worked it over the bedpost.  
"Since this is your first time, I'll leave your legs free. Would you feel more comfortable seeing how to free yourself first? Or should I just dive right in?" Dean asked, running his hand slowly up and down Sam's chest.

Sam's heart stuttered as he found his wrist cuffed to the bed. It was an all-new experience. It made him feel both vulnerable and excited. As he tried to gather his thoughts, he found his other wrist bound. That, he hadn't exactly expected. He looked up, and seeing the way the silk looked around his wrist, he felt his gut clench. It had nothing to do with fear.

Licking his lips, he looked back at Dean. His soft words, explanations. All the options he offered. His kindness from the moment he'd allowed Sam into his home. It all lead to one thing. "I trust you," he told Dean, meaning every word. "Maybe I should be worried... but I'm not. So please, just..." He leaned forward, and slanted his mouth across Dean's, showing him what he wanted. What he needed.

Dean kissed Sam back then pulled away, giving a soft chuckle. "Only thing you have to worry about is me wearing you out. I do anything that makes you too nervous, your safe word is...'professor,' okay? Now let's get to exploring you properly." Dean took some of the oil and poured it on Sam's chest. He straddled the man, their cocks practically knocking against each other. Leaning forward, he kissed Sam with slow deliberate passion as his hands moved through the oil to spread it over every ridge and trough of the man’s chest and abs.

Sam wanted to ask what Dean planned... why he needed a safe word, but before he could ask, Dean's mouth was already pressing against his own, making him forget everything. Forgetting he was cuffed, he tried to reach for the back of Dean's head. Frustration shot through him, inflaming his desire. And now... now he knew why this was so exciting.

Allowing his head to rock back against the headboard, Sam kissed Dean back with everything he had. The way the man's fingers danced over his chest, the way his cock lightly brushed against his own, it was magic. Pure, erotic, magic. Giving a sound of pleasure, Sam raised his hips, trying to get a little pressure, groaning again as their cocks brushed.

Dean shifted, pressing down, rubbing their cocks together, but doing so with a very deliberate rocking back and forth, torturing them both. After kissing and teasing them both, he leaned further forward and slid his legs in between Sam's. He kept his hips motionless as he began working his way down Sam's body. His tongue and lips slipped over Sam, starting at Sam's mouth, working down to his jaw, his ear, then the side of his neck. His hands gripped Sam's biceps, squeezing them occasionally as he squirmed down further now and again, groaning along with Sam as pressure was put on both of their cocks.

"How... how can round two be worse than round one?" Sam demanded, between sharply indrawn breaths. He was on fire. This man was burning him up with hardly any effort. Turning his head to the side to give Dean more access, he couldn't help lifting himself up again, seeking that which was being denied. And when Dean worked his mouth lower, close to his nipple, Sam felt it pebble to a tight, achy nub. "That porn star of yours... she must really have given you some lessons," he mused, biting his lip suddenly when their groins collided.

"Mmmm, wait until we hit round four or five," Dean murmured, catching Sam's nipple between his lips and rolling his lips from side to side, then teasing its tip with his tongue, his tongue making ever widening circles around it as he sucked on it harder and harder. He loved the sounds coming from Sam and the way Sam arched up under him.  
Finally giving Sam a break, he released the nipple, licking over the other one and blowing lightly across it. 

"You like that baby? You want me to kiss you or to move lower down?" He brought one hand down as he rolled a bit onto his side and circled Sam's belly button with a finger he first sucked on. "I could tongue fuck you here." He dragged the finger down to touch the dripping tip of Sam's cock, "or here." He continued on down, over Sam's balls until he found Sam's tight hole which he began to pulse his finger against. "Or here. What do you want, Sammy? What is your heart beating for, your soul craving, your body screaming for? Tell me what you want me to do, Baby."

Kiss or move lower... kiss or move lower. The offers reverberated in Sam's mind and he was torn, so damned torn as he tried to make a choice. And then Dean was giving him more choices, like he could think? Even hearing himself get called 'Sammy,' he couldn't muster up his usual immediate correction.

His head hung forward, his bangs covering his eyes. His chest rising and falling. Something incoherent slipped out from between his lips. He raised his face up, tried again. "I want it all, Dean. Kiss me. Tongue fuck me everywhere. Squeeze me. Oh God," he jerked forward, trying to get closer, "fuck me. Just fuck me," he demanded, his eyes glazing over and making it difficult to focus on his lover.

"Jesus, Sam when was the last time you got laid right?" Dean said, caressing Sam's face. "Okay, I'll give you a little bit of everything. Promise," Dean said and began to do exactly that. His mouth brushed over Sam's chest, kissing, nipping, licking, and he worked his way down to Sam's abs where he spent a little extra time at Sam's belly button, then at the indentations of his hip. When he knew from Sam's sounds that Sam wouldn't last much longer, he gripped Sam's cock then slipped Sam's legs over his shoulders. He licked along the bottom side of Sam's cock, then down to his balls, then down further to Sam's hole.

He gave his best tongue fucking as he occasionally kneaded and squeezed Sam's cock, finally reaching for the lube when he was sure the man was nearly at the end of his rope.

"Ngh..." Sam couldn't answer. Couldn't tell him this wasn't because he was hard up for it, couldn't explain that it was Dean... all Dean... drawing these strong reactions from him. It didn't matter what the man did, or said, or how he said it... it all affected Sam like nothing ever had before. Every inch of his skin felt tight around him, and sensitive, so sensitive. Every nerve in his body was aware of Dean, of everywhere they touched or didn't touch. And the knot in his stomach was winding tighter and tighter, pushing him closer to the precipice. "Oh God," he groaned, and almost dug his heels into Dean's back when Dean withdrew from inside him.

"I'm fine... don't need that... just need you," he said between broken exhales. He couldn't help trying to pull his wrist free, wanting to pull Dean into his arms. "Oh Godddd," he groaned at the realization that he couldn't do that. Couldn't touch his lover the way he wanted to.

"Shshsh. You do need this," Dean practically crooned as he began working lube inside Sam's hole, gently pressing his finger in a little deeper each time. Sam's muscle fluttered around his finger and his own gut clenched, making him exhale sharply as he tried to keep himself under control. Sam had given him such a perfect blow job, he'd wanted this lovemaking to be just as good for Sam. But he felt himself wound as tight as the man beneath him, felt his blood burn with fever. He worked a little faster, sliding a second finger in, stretching Sam, curling his fingers to brush his prostate. His eyes were on Sam's face as the man practically came undone with that very first touch inside. Dean's own breathing ratcheted up and he stretched Sam more and put more lube inside stretching and slipping a third finger in. He wanted to ask Sam if that was enough, if he was ready, but Dean wasn't certain how much longer he could hold on now, not with the way Sam writhed and moaned, or with the way obscene words spilled almost non-stop from him. The way he tugged at his bindings....Dean shuddered. No he couldn't wait any longer. He positioned himself at Sam's hole, quickly running some lube along his own cock.

If he hadn't been this desperate, if he hadn't been begging and pleading and demanding, Sam might have remembered he could get out of the cuffs and get the damned silk binding off too. But he was focused on only one thing, the way Dean was working him up, making him so damned hungry... needy for it, that he couldn't think straight.  
When Dean finally repositioned himself, Sam gave a low whimper. He could feel Dean's blunt tip teasing his hole, catching, then maddeningly slipping past it. "Dean," he demanded through ground teeth, giving the guy a look.

"Sorry," Dean said, looking up at Sam then gripping his hips. He repositioned his tip, energy curling through every fiber of his being, and began to push in steadily. Once he was past that tight ring of muscle, he moved one hand to Sam's dripping cock, running his closed hand up and down his shaft as he kept up the pressure, distracting Sam as he pushed all the way in until he felt his ball press up against Sam's ass and he gave one final little push. He panted, trying to keep control refusing to just go at it. Sam needed a moment to adjust and he would give Sam that even if it killed him.

Sam screwed his eyes shut, holding his breath and bracing against the pain of Dean's invasion. There was nothing small about Dean, and he wanted all of him inside, every inch. So he took it, the pain, and he forced himself to relax, sagging against Dean once he was fully sheathed.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Their labored breaths and the crackling of the fire were the only sounds in the room.

Sam met Dean's gaze. He'd been about to ask him not to tease, but the fire in Dean's eyes told him Dean was just as desperate for this as he was right now. That all it would take was one word from him.  
"Mmm..." He licked his lips and dipped his head, kissing Dean lightly. He could practically feel the tension coiled up in Dean, and it made him give another soft moan. Squeezing his inner muscles around Dean, he found himself rocking a little, pushing himself into Dean's hand, needing that friction. Tilting his face up, he gave a nod. "Now."

If he'd had any brain cells left, he would have given Sam a bit of a tease, but he was burning up, his brain cells surely vaporized by the heat. When Sam gave him permission, he started off by slowly pulling almost out, then pushing back in, then giving Sam a jack along his cock. He did it again, a little faster, then again until he finally had to use his body to give Sam's cock the pressure because he needed both hands. He was thrusting hard, the bed creaking rhythmically to his and his lover's groans. Angling, he made sure to hit Sam's prostate on every thrust.

Dean was nearing coming, both of them were and yet he still forced himself to stop, holding tightly to Sam, his eyes closed, knowing both of them were in agony. Lifting his head he reached out one hand and hit the release catch on the handcuff, then unhooked the silk tie with a sharp tug so it fell away from the bed post. "Now we finish," Dean said, his voice rough and raspy.

The blood was pounding so hard in Sam's head, he could barely think. With each thrust of his hips, Dean was pushing him closer, driving him wilder, making him cry you for it. The instant his wrists were free of the bindings, he closed his arms around Dean, pulling him up so hard against his frame, neither of them could move. Then he heard the word 'finish,' and every other thought or intention was burned out of his mind.

Moving his hand over Dean's shoulder, to the side of his neck, his fingers splayed wide and covering Dean's jaw, he drew his face close and welded their mouths together in a fiery kiss. He wasn't as gentle as Dean. He couldn't be. His free hand roamed over Dean's back, his fingers sometimes biting into Dean's back. He countered each thrust of Dean's hips with one of his own, digging his heels into the mattress and pushing practically off it. His grunts were echoed by Dean's, his movements in perfect synch, both of them climbing, reaching for it.

"Dean!" Sam called out, his balls tightening against his body. "Now!" he gripped Dean's hip, grinding up against him and struggling to hold back until he felt Dean start to release. "Dean," he called out again as fire raced through him, making him come so damned hard his cum sprayed all the way up both of their chests.

It was the ultimate wild ride, the hottest fucking sex he could immediately recall, but he knew his brain wasn’t functioning much beyond 'me Dean, him awesome' as he pumped and thrust, distantly wondering if the bed was going to survive this. He felt Sam's fingers dig into his flesh, he heard Sam call his name, begging him, telling him it was time. That last slight tightening of muscle that Sam gave had him screaming Sam's name, all but shaking the rafters as his balls pulsed and pulsed and pulsed, filling Sam, overflowing. He felt Sam come apart beneath him, felt hot liquid splash between them. They both rode the waves of their orgasms, rocking and muttering against each other, both drenched not only in cum but in sweat.

Dean's movements slowed and he collapsed on top of Sam. “Holy… fucking… shit..." he gasped. "I think I love you."

"You know..." Sam panted, refusing to let go of Dean, "in some dead tongues, that's a marriage proposal." Laughing, he buried his face in Dean's neck, kissing him, drawing in his scent, and kissing him again. "What are you doing next Christmas...?” 

"Making sure there's a new bed in this place. Extra sheets. Extra clothes for my Gigantor in case he gets lost in another snowstorm. Stocking up on extra food...am I missing anything? My tradition, Christmas at my cabin...how about, you think about making it your tradition too? Unless you get a better offer."

"I'm here," Sam quickly said, meaning it. He knew a lot could happen between now and next December, but right here, right now, if Dean would have him back here, then this was where he was coming.

He was quiet for a while, running his fingers through Dean's damp hair and enjoying having him pressed up against him. Suddenly, it struck him. He felt at home. Right here, in this guy's arms, up in the mountains, in some cabin in the middle of a snowstorm, Sam felt at home.

Dean was happy to just lay there on top of Sam, though he did finally pull out to allow them to get more comfortable. He hardly knew this guy, some stranger in a snowstorm, but he'd never felt more sure of anything before. There was something between them. Chemistry. Soulmates. Hell, Cupid. He didn't know and didn't care, and the realist in him knew this feeling could be gone in an hour or a day or a month. Another part of him whispered to never let this man beneath him go.

"Okay," Dean finally sighed. Wet sheets, cooling off, even with the heated mattress pad. "You, go take a quick rinse. I'll put on fresh dry blankets, then I'll rinse off. Then we're both back in bed to sleep or spoon or whatever else we decide to do. I'll get out more blankets, you know, for when we go our next round." Even as he said it, he made no effort to roll off of Sam. It was a good idea. He knew it was, but he was just so damned comfortable right where he was.

Sam gave a satisfied laugh and pressed his knee in against Dean's thigh. "A few hours ago, I could have died out there, in the snow. Now... if I die, you just make sure my gravestone says 'he died a happy man,' you got that?" He took another breath, wanting to stay where he was, but knowing Dean was right.

"Come with me. I mean to the shower," he huffed, knowing what Dean was thinking. It would be a tight squeeze, but he didn't care. He didn't want to give Dean up just yet, and this might be the incentive he needed. "I'll help you fix the bed after. C'mon..." he urged, his lips quirking.

"Argh," Dean grumbled. "That's happy-man grunt for yeah, okay, gimme a minute." He gave a long exhale. "Shower. God, I think I sprained my balls I came so hard." He pushed himself up and slowly slid off of Sam to a sitting position, running his fingers through his damp spiky hair. "You, Professor, look totally fucked out," he said, obviously very pleased with himself for being the party responsible.

Sam gave an almost shy smile and looked down for a minute, then back up. "If I do, we both know whose fault it is." 

As he got up, he ran his hand around the wrist that had been cuffed. He'd tugged quite hard against it, and there was a faint, red mark on his skin. That too had him smiling. Before Dean got up, Sam kissed him. "Thank you for the best Christmas ever." 

Dean tilted his head back. "Christmas has barely gotten started. Maybe they'll be more presents under the tree in the morning. And we’ve got good food to eat tomorrow. And a snowstorm so we'll have to entertain each other with," Dean got up and wrapped his arms around Sam, "with stories, and hot sex, and I can test your knowledge of knots. I'm sure this best Christmas ever will get more and more interesting as the minutes pass." He kissed Sam thoroughly and whispered in his ear, "You're completely beyond adorable when you get that shy look on your face. And I love your dimples." He began walking Sam backwards toward the shower.

"I'm not... shy," Sam looked slightly away, proving Dean's point. "And you're not supposed to notice them. Course I think your freckles are adorable," he laughed, hanging onto Dean. 

"I haven't had freckles since I was five!" Dean said. "And no, whatever you say, you can't convince me otherwise. Heroes simply don't have freckles. It would be...just wrong."

"Heroes, huh?" Sam cocked his head. "Yeah, I guess you're my hero. I could have been in tomorrow’s newspaper. ‘Huge icicle found... turns out to be a frozen man.’" When they entered the small bathroom, he let go of Dean and reached into the shower, turning it on. The ice cold water had him pulling his hand back and cursing.

Dean laughed. "Hey Einstein, you do have to let it warm up a minute." Pulling Sam around, he waggled his eyebrows at him. "I'll keep you warm until the water can. And damned right I'm your hero. I'm like Batman or something. Just without the millionaire part." Pulling the man into steamy kiss, he practically forgot about the shower.


	3. Chapter 3

When morning came, Sam quietly slipped out of bed. Every muscle in his body ached from their activities, but it was a good ache. As he stood in the shower, water running over his head, he closed his eyes and thought about all of those magic moments. Dean whispering to him, showing him how to knot the scarves, demanding things from him. God the man was something. He had everything. Looks, personality, and he even spoke dead languages and didn't think it was weird. Sam laughed out loud at the thought.

After he dried off and put on his clothes, he checked in the bedroom. Dean was still asleep, but from his movements, Sam was pretty sure he was coming out of it.

Heading to the living room, he started the fire. Outside the window, the snow was still blowing. From inside the warmth of the decorated cabin, it was a beautiful sight. He felt like he was looking at a snow globe, or a movie scene.

After he made some coffee, he found himself getting breakfast started. He felt comfortable here, with Dean, when by all rights he ought to feel like a stranger. He certainly shouldn't feel at ease enough to be making breakfast without checking with Dean. But there he was, making eggs, and pancakes, and bacon. One thing was clear, Dean Winchester liked to eat and was well stocked. It had Sam smiling, especially as he re-lived in his mind the number of times pie had been mentioned last night. Then there was the fact that sex had worked up Dean's appetite, and there was none left in the box they'd opened.

Dean's eyes slowly cracked open, the smell of coffee and bacon wafting into the bedroom. For a moment he wondered if Sam had been nothing but a wonderful dream. Glancing at the bedpost and seeing a silk tie still hanging there, he knew Sam was real. Dean slowly sat up and stretched. Throwing on some jeans and t-shirt and flannel, he walked out to the living. "Morning. I got time for a shower, Martha?"

"It's Sam," Sam said, grinning, acting as if he thought Dean might have forgotten his name. "Make it a quickie?"

Dean smirked at him. "Only because you won't be in there with me."

He headed back to the shower and washed quickly. He typically didn't shave on Christmas morning, but since he didn't want to give Sam beard rash, he took the extra time to run a quick razor over his face. After his shower he raided his closet for some actual clean clothes. He was going to have to suck it up and do some laundry soon. 

He returned to the doorway of the kitchen, running his fingers through his short damp hair. "Quick enough? And it smells good. I hope you're cooking for two."

"Three, actually. I know you eat for two," Sam said, his heart giving a start at the casual way Dean filled up the doorway. Did the guy have any idea how good he looked? He turned off the burners, and moved in front of Dean, leaning in to kiss him. "M'mornin' Sleeping Beauty. What? You keep coming up with names for me," he said, tapping Dean's chest with his index finger.

Then he opened up a couple of cabinets and found the plates. Passing one to Dean, he grabbed one for himself. "And your syrup is..."

"Syrup is in the cabinet left of the sink. Sleeping Beauty huh? I guess that makes you Prince Charming. Do you drive a white mustang? I already know your sword is big enough to slay any dragon," he said, glancing down at Sam's crotch with a grin.

"I do..." Sam followed Dean's gaze, then added, "Drive a mustang." Grabbing the syrup, Sam looked over his shoulder at Dean. "I guess that makes you the dragon? Makes sense, you roar loud enough."

“I can't be Sleeping Beauty AND the dragon. Course I guess if you slew the dragon last night and got stuck with me as the leftovers..." Dean tilted his head. "What year Mustang you got?" He walked over to the skillet and began filling his plate. His stomach rumbled loudly. "My stomach thanks you, by the way."

"Last year's model. It's a GT Premium coupe, 5 Liter, V8, 420 horsepower, 6 speed. I needed something fast for all the night chases I'm in, you know... shuttling between libraries and museums." He smiled at the way Dean loaded his plate up, and followed after him. "I grew up on crap food, so now... it's like I'm making up for lost time."

"Dude, if you drove a classic Mustang, you'd never go back to the pretty wannabes of today,” he said, but it was plain he approved of the car, when he gave Sam a nod and smirk. “Not as sweet as my baby, but at least it's a muscle car and not a freaking plastic piece of crap." Dean grabbed some silverware and after slathering butter on the pancakes and pouring syrup on top, he grabbed his coffee. "I know all about crap food. So you do the night chases, huh? Which superhero are you?"

"I don't suppose Sherlock Holmes qualifies? Then someone from A League of Extraordinary Men." He'd seen the movie a long time ago, and couldn't remember any of the characters. For some reason, he had the impression they'd been bookish.

"Tom Sawyer, special agent? Yeah. I can see you maybe being him. You're not rough enough around the edges for Quatermain. Maybe Captain Nemo. He was like uber book smart.” Dean sat down at the small kitchen table, using a crate as a chair and indicated for Sam to join him, giving him the one real chair that was at the table.

"How about just Superman? I mean... Clark Kent?" Sam sat down across from Dean. "Guess that would make you Lois?" Now he was stretching his superhero knowledge, but it was clear Dean was into this stuff.

"You can be Superman, but no way in hell am I Lois Lane. At least you didn't call me Jimmy Olsen," Dean grouched. "I could always see Supes and Batman having an occasional fling." Dean studied Sam as he took the first bite of pancake. "Maybe the Green Arrow. You any good with a bow? Damn, these pancakes are awesome...you apparently didn't use the Bisquick but made ‘em from scratch. Sorry, that puts you back to Martha Stewart..."

"Just knives... hey," Sam protested, but didn't look at all angry. "And what about your cooking last night?" Shaking his head, he started to eat. Yeah, breakfast had turned out pretty damned good. Probably because he was in a hella good mood, thanks to the man sitting across from him and eating with gusto.

He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, before it started to give off the ring tone. Lifting one finger up to say he'd just be a minute, he put the phone to his ear. "Yes? Robert?" He made a face. "Don't you ever take a rest day?"

The man apologized for calling on Christmas and started to ask about getting a quick translation.

"It's Christmas! And... I don't have my laptop. I'm snowed in. Why don't you just e-mail it and I'll get to it when..."

"I have a real situation here, Prof. I wouldn't call you if I didn't. Now I need you to..."

Sam gestured, making circles with his index finger near his temple and sighing. "Dean, is your internet up? Can I check e-mail on—?"

"Did you say ‘Dean?’" Bobby demanded loudly.

"Yeah...ah..."

"Put me on speaker."

Sighing, Sam did, if only to get done quickly.

"Dean, is that you, boy? Just what in the hell are you doing playing reindeer games with the professor?" Bobby demanded.

The other shoe fell and Sam blanched. He'd put his foot in his mouth again, implying the man was nuts. Robert had to be the guy Dean referred to as Bobby. 'Sorry,' he mouthed, hanging his head.

Dean could hear Bobby's voice clearly on Sam's phone and bit his tongue when Sam indicated Bobby was one of the nutcases that called him. "Yeah, Bobby, it's me. The Professor got his car stuck in the big ass snowstorm going on and found his way to my cabin. Phone's been out, internet, everything. I'm surprised the phones are back up since the storm isn't supposed to really let up until later this afternoon. Let me check my computer to see if internet is back up. If the cell towers are, internet probably is."

Dean retrieved his laptop and turned it on, then set it on the small table. When it finished startup, Dean checked the connection. "Yeah, we got internet. And you're interrupting a damned fine breakfast. So what story you gonna tell Sam here about needing a translation on Christmas?"

Sam knew his color was high, from embarrassment now. He pressed his lips into a thin line and grabbed the laptop from Dean, navigating to his e-mail.

"Local church is putting on a play and can't afford to get the words wrong. Why don't you give him an explanation, idgit."

Sam's brows quirked. He looked at Dean, then his phone flat on the table. "So the church is putting on a play about..." He scrolled, "women who cut off the hands and feet of their husbands... mating partners," he corrected his translation, and made a face.

Dean gave a snort of laughter. "I'm sure the church play is about Old Testament and how Christ changed the old ways into kinder gentler ways, right Bobby? Sam, I'll give you the low down I promised you last night. Just do the translation. We'll call you back Bobby, once he's got it. Anything specific we're looking for? What do you need? A ritual to kill whatever it is?"

Sam's head jerked up. "Are we looking for a serial killer?"

"That's right.” Bobby said, “I'll leave it to Dean to explain. What I need to know is how to predict when it will happen next, and how to stop it. I've got four dead guys on my hands, and it ain't pretty." The sound of ruffling paper came over the phone. "You know, one of these guys has a pregnant girlfriend. I'll find out what the others were up to. I'll send some more details."

The phone went dead.

"Dean, what the hell are reindeer games?" Sam asked, feeling completely unsettled by what Rob... Bobby had said, but at the same time excited at the prospect of maybe doing something that counted for something.

"It's a movie about bait and switch, pretending to be someone you're not, kinda a complex movie," Dean said, dismissing the comment. “As for the serial killer comment, yeah, sounds like it. Maybe a group of women or witches doing some sort of ritual killing for power or money, or hell, who knows what. Could be a curse, or a ghost I suppose, but my first guess is gonna be witchcraft. So why do these women kill their mates?"

Sam started to laugh at Dean's theories, stopping only when he realized he was the only one of the two of them laughing. "You're... serious." Biting his tongue, Sam turned his attention back to the text sent by Bobby. "Fertility ritual. Part of a fertility ritual. First, a woman unable to bear children must swear to sacrifice her mate should she bear fruit... get pregnant. Blah blah blah and... the sacrifice must be made in the sixth month, or mother and child will die." Sam gave a "Huh, guess that's one way of making sure someone doesn't back out of a deal. So... we're talking serial killers, in the plural here?" he asked.

Tapping his finger on the table, he looked at Dean. "If this has to do with infertile women, maybe someone's recruiting at clinics or..." Then he scratched his head. "I mean that's assuming it worked and they got pregnant, which is impossible, right?"

Dean shook his head. "Perk of the job. Proving what's possible and real, and what isn't. Could be the women haven't a clue they're agreeing to sacrifice their guys, could be they do. Could be a nut carrying out the ritual to give them a reason to kill, could be some sort of real or imagined power or benefit. Does that text give a pagan god, fertility goddess, whatever, a name. They do this in the name of 'x' goddess and they'll get their kid. Will they get anything else?" Dean got up and refilled both of their coffees. 

"It doesn't mention any Goddess, but I know where I can find a list of major and minor Gods of the culture." Grabbing a bite of his food, and setting the fork down, Sam went to work, opening a few other internet sites. 

Soon, they had the lore down. "By the way, during pregnancy, it says here that the women's flesh will burn and peel at the touch of a silver dagger or staff." He made a face. "Not very helpful."

"No, that's real helpful, Sam. It'll tell the hunter if this is a real ritual or a nutcase pyscho to be handed off to the cops. Still, the hunter's gonna have to figure out if the women are killing their lovers or if there's some worshipping freak doing it. Not our problem, least, not at the moment. This is enough to get the hunter going in the right direction, especially with the lore you dug up on that fertility goddess. Damn, glad that's not my hunt. If it's not a pyscho serial killer, some hunter is going to have to choose who lives and who dies. Father, or guilty mother and innocent kid." Dean shook his head. "Merry Christmas. Did you plug the crock pot with the cider back in? Shoot that info off to Bobby. He can call if he needs any clarification."

"You mean someone's gonna actually go out and kill... whoa whoa whoa..." Sam raised his hands up and stared at Dean. "Tell me you're kidding," he said, his expression serious. 

"People are dying, Sam. You heard Bobby. Some hunter is trying to stop the killing. If the hunter doesn't, it's going to continue and more innocents will die. Think of us like the Men in Black, only it's not aliens but monsters. We don't kill humans. That's the first rule. But you wreck the altar so it can't be done again, and tell the lovers to beat it, the guilty parties will get theirs. It’s the best that can be done. Sometimes the choices are ugly. Sometimes the job really sucks ass. This is gonna be one of those times for that hunter. Other times, it can be a really good day when you nail the monster and save the innocent. Hunting things, saving people. That's the mantra. Have faith the hunter will make the best choice to save the most and best he or she can."

"Hunter." There was that word again. Sam did as Dean said, typing the information out and hitting send, but he wanted to forget everything he'd just heard. But wanting to forget, and forgetting, were completely different things.

Suddenly, Sam was pulled back in time. He couldn't see faces, but he heard a deep voice. 'We're _hunters._ It's what we do. Sam will be fine, won't you, boy?' Sam squeezed his eyes shut, trying to go back there... wherever _there_ was.

"...Sam, you okay?" Dean asked quietly, seeing the internal struggle on Sam's face but glad that Sam had sent the info to Bobby. He also knew they may well have just lost a very valuable resource if he couldn't convince Sam that they were the good guys.

Sam ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah." He let out a breath, then stood up. "I need some air. It's... it's fine," he said, gesturing for Dean not to worry, as he crossed the room and walked out onto the porch, needing the bite of the cold wind tearing right through his thin shirt to bring him back to reality.

"Crap," Dean muttered, but gave Sam his space. He made sure the crock pot with the cider was on and put their dishes in the sink. He knew Sam couldn't stay out in that cold very long, but he also knew Sam might have a lot of questions when he came back in. He silently cursed Bobby for fucking up the couple weeks out of the year that he took a break from hunting, that he tried to forget all the bad fucked up memories of the previous year. It wasn't Bobby's fault though. People were dying and it wasn’t like Bobby had called him. Dean sighed, pulled out his journal, and got the wool blanket ready for Sam when he came back in from the cold.

The voice. Sam had heard it in his mind. It was distinct. Familiar. It was from his past, Sam knew it. But what did it mean? He looked out at the wintery landscape, suddenly trying not to think. But his mind was doing the heavy lifting, putting it together for him subconsciously. Now he knew what his parents were. Either crackpots, or heroes, just like Dean and Bobby.

When the cold got to him, Sam headed back inside, leaning against the door after he closed it. His clothes felt ice cold on his body, and he rubbed his arms, giving Dean a grateful nod when the guy wrapped the blanket around him. "Thanks."

"C'mon, sit on the couch, by the fire. Last night you opted for wild sex instead of questions. You want to ask the questions now, or should we mark you off as a go-to guy?"

Dean wasn't going to push Sam. It was his right to decide whether he wanted in or out. Though he might try to persuade Sam with some stories of lives Sam had saved if it came down to it.

Sam went to sit down, pulling the blanket close. Then he looked up at Dean. "It's not that. I'm always a go-to guy." Somehow he knew Dean's explanations would alleviate his unease about what he'd heard. 

"I..." He raised his hand up in the air, then dropped it onto his thigh. "I remembered something. I guess from when I was a kid, I don't know." He repeated what he'd remembered, searching Dean's face to see if Dean reached the same conclusion.

"Your parents were hunters. You weren't abandoned. They didn't come back from a hunt. Lady with a bar, you were sent to lady with a bar...sonuvabitch. I bet you were taken to Ellen. I think we can find out who your parents were. I don't understand why you went into foster care. That's not...well, maybe if you didn't have any family, but somebody should’a looked in on you, made sure your life was good… It's your call Sam. How much do you want to know?" Dean asked

It was a lot to take in, to decide. He'd gotten used to thinking he'd been left behind. That there'd been something wrong with him, something lacking. And it was possible that after everything, even this new information, the answer would be the same. "I think I'd like to think about it later." Reaching for Dean, Sam pulled him into his arms and started to kiss him. A few heart beats, and he was swept away. There were no questions, no answers to worry about. Only the man kissing him back so fervently, grounding him.

Dean understood using sex or alcohol as a distraction He'd done both on multiple occasions. It was a big decision to ring a bell that couldn't be unrung once the questions were asked and answered. So he gave Sam exactly what Sam needed, all the distractions that he could manage.

It wasn’t a selfless act on his part. He had often searched for something… for someone... and never found anyone that soothed something inside him… until Sam. Someone he meshed with such perfection it was almost too good to be true. After this, he might lose Sam so he'd make the most of it while he could.

They kissed and groped until every last worry, every niggling question and fear, was driven from Sam’s mind. He kissed Dean one more time, sucking his lower lip into his mouth, before gently breaking the kiss. “You warm me up like nothing else can.” He cleared his throat. “And I didn’t mean to cut your breakfast short or interrupt your present opening tradition or anything.”

"Plates have been put in the sink. I was done. If you're still hungry, there are some cinnamon rolls over there," Dean said, panting a bit, glad to see Sam seemed much more relaxed and less stressed out or worried. He looked over the present sitting under the tree. "You ever opened a Christmas present?"

Sam gave a shrug. "Sometimes my students give me presents." He knew it wasn't what Dean meant, but he didn't want to depress the guy. "Go on and open your mystery gift. I'll still be here... being the gift that keeps giving," he teased.

Dean walked over to the tree and picked up the present and brought it over to the couch, putting it between them. "I'll de-ribbon it, you rip off the paper, and I'll open the box. Deal? But you gotta rip the paper off enthusiastically.

Sam gave a chuckle. "Dude, I'm not eight anymore. Seriously, it doesn't matter. It's your gift, enjoy it. I can take a picture of you opening it, if you like. A selfie, or whatever." He watched as Dean undid the ribbons, and pulled his cell phone off the coffee table.

Dean leaned in close and whispered. "But have you ever had the joy of just tearing into a present? You wanna know a secret? Eight or eighteen or twenty-eight. It still feels awesome. Now open it, idget."

Raising his eyebrows, Sam nevertheless gave a nod. Smiling and then chuckling, he tore the paper off, mostly to please Dean but finding that the guy's smile had the power to actually make him happy. "Mission accomplished."

Dean laughed with Sam. "Told you. Okay let's see what bizarre thing Santa brought me this year." Opening the box, he found an old bottle of high end whiskey, a sealed letter that said for Dean not to open it until July tenth, and a note in the very bottom that said in extremely neat and elegant handwriting 'Why are you looking in here? You already opened your real Christmas present on Christmas Eve.' 

Dean gave Sam a baffled look and showed him the contents and the note.

"Who did you unwrap yesterday, I mean before I arrived?" Sam teased, unable to decipher the writer's meaning. 

Dean shook his head. "No one." Dean laughed. "Dude, if you were my Christmas present, you're the best damned present I've ever gotten. I'll send the North Pole a thank you cookiegram or something."

"Next year I'll come with a bow,” Sam laughed. "So, aren't you gonna open the envelope? Cause if you don't, I might."

"Says July tenth. Tell you what, we'll get together on July 10th and open it together. Feels like there's a gift card or something inside."

"You're really gonna wait?" Sam's eyebrows climbed up his forehead. "C'mon... just open it. You can re-open it in July, if you like." Dean's idea that they get together in July had Sam thinking, but he didn't want to put too much stock in it.

"Yeah, I'm really going to wait. If I open it now, odds are I won't get what the point of it is. You wanna open it, you can. Don't tell me what you find and tape it shut. But then I might not invite you to join me on July 10th..."

"Seriously, you're just gonna do what your mystery gift giver tells you?" Sam blew out a breath that ruffled his bangs, but let it go. It wasn't his present, so he'd been kidding about opening it. "Alright so, what else did you do yesterday, besides me?" Realizing how that came out, Sam made a face. "You know..."

Smirking at Sam's comment, Dean glanced around. "I opened the fridge, a gallon of cider, the box with the pie, the door to let you in. You were the only wild card. Maybe Santa Claus made your horse get stuck in the snow just so you'd end up here. Told you I'd been a very, very good boy this year." He gave Sam a lingering leer.

"Oh yeah? How good?" Reaching out, Sam grabbed Dean's shirt and slowly drew him close. "I just wanna be sure you're well rewarded, you know?" he whispered. 

"Oh, VERY good," Dean said, using the remote to turn on the little stereo nestled in the corner. A cassette tape started playing a Kansas song. Dean looked into Sam's eyes. "That song? The album it's from is called Point of No Return. I think it fits, don't you?" Without waiting for Sam's answer, Dean began to nuzzle Sam's neck.

* * *

The next week was the best time of Sam's life. He'd taken Dean out for a sumptuous steak dinner, as promised. And they'd gone snowboarding. And then they'd been pretty much inseparable. Sometimes they’d stayed at the hotel, enjoying its hot tub, bar and other amenities. And sometimes they stayed at the cabin, where they were literally in their own world. Sam never felt lonely, or crowded. It was just right between them, and as the days of his vacation drew to a close, his heart started to feel heavy.

Then the day came to say good bye. He'd driven Dean back to the cabin, and Dean had insisted on checking the Mustang to make sure Sam wouldn't get stuck anywhere. Then they stood next to the car, talking about what a good time they'd had. "I'll leave one of the snow boards here. You might get some use out of it," Sam said, taking it out of his trunk, and shoving one end into the snow so it stood up.

"I guess this is it..." He searched Dean's face. "You've got my number, if you're in the area or... I could meet you on a weekend or something." He didn't want to let this man go, to let him out of his sight. It was killing Sam, but short of dragging him to the university, there was nothing he could do but hope, and trust.

"If I don't find a job in the next few days, I might come visit. I'll text you, email you. You do the same. I drive back and forth across the country all the time. When I'm in the area, I'm visiting unless you tell me to get lost. And Spring Break--we gotta do Spring Break together somewhere." Dean pulled Sam into a long gentle kiss. He always lost everything. It was the way of his life. He'd lose Sam too. That was simply the Winchester curse. But he'd hold on while he could. 

Finally breaking the kiss, he smacked Sam on the ass. "Now get the hell out of here before I change my mind and cuff you to the bed for the next week."

"Promise?" Sam asked, only half-joking. He gave a nod. "And Skype. I want to see you." Pressing his mouth into a firm line, he walked to the car and opened the door. He stood there for a moment, then turned around. "It wasn't... this wasn't a one night stand, or a week long fling. Not for me," he said. "It's alright if you feel differently about it, but I just... I wanted it out there."

The corner of Dean's mouth pulled into a half-smile. "The Winchester curse--Nothing I care about stays in my life. I can't promise anything, Sam. I only see the _now_ , ‘cause that's what my life is. I promise I'll stay in touch. A lot. If you meet a better Mr. Right, don't be stupid. Jump his bones." Dean gave a nod. "Hate chick-flick shit. Get out of here."

Sam gave a nod and got into the car, pulling the door shut. He glanced out his window once, then started the car and pulled away from the drive, making a U-turn onto the road. The winter break brought him a lot to think about. His strong feelings for this man, a hunter. His own role in the world of hunters. And his shrouded family past. Reaching for the radio, he switched stations, finding a classic rock station and grinning.

***

Dean loved his cabin, he really did, but that first night that Sam wasn’t there, it was the first time he felt lonely in it. Every morning when he got up, after getting his shower he’d text Sam. Sometimes it was just a picture of what he was having for breakfast, sometimes he’d take bizarre close ups of his feet, or an ear or eye, or even a bug or a breakfast menu. 

They got into the habit of Skyping as often as possible in the evenings. Anytime Dean was within a day’s drive of Sam, he tried to make sure he saw him. It usually started out with wild hot sex and ended with a lazy conversation about important and unimportant things.

Spring Break came and they disappeared into Dean’s cabin for the first two days of it. It was harder than ever to say goodbye again, for both of them when the week came to an end. Dean made Sam promise not to teach over the summer and instead come on the road with him.

July tenth arrived and Dean had just finished a job of burning the bones of some psycho ghost. They’d been ‘officially’ together for slightly over a month now. It seemed to be working for them, the relationship. Dean decided he could switch from covering the whole country to staying within a few days drive of Sam’s place, because every time he looked at Sam he just couldn’t imagine saying goodbye for the whole school year, and only seeing Sam once a month in the flesh. He didn’t want that again. He wanted more.

They were sitting outside a coffee shop having already finished off the piece of pie Dean had gotten for each of them. Dean kept glancing at Sam while trying to get up the nerve to ask. What if Sam said no?

Finally clearing his throat, Dean reached across the table and took Sam’s hand. “You know I suck at the feel good girlie crap. But, uh, yeah, this has been good. Being with you. I’d like to, ah, make it more, uh, permanent, you know, us.” 

At first, when Dean got serious, Sam had a panic attack. Had he forgotten an important date. Was it six months since they’d met? No not quite. And then Dean’s words sank in. He sat absolutely still, holding his breath and not wanting to miss a word.

Dean took a deep breath. “Sam, when I picture a perfect life, a happy life, it’s with you. If you’ll have me, I’ll stay with you. I’ll just hunt anything that comes up within a day’s drive or so of your place. If you can deal with me being away for short periods. If you can...marry me?” he asked, looking into Sam’s eyes, his own eyes filled with hope, all shields gone so Sam could see clear into his soul.

He’d thought Dean would ask him to continue to travel with him even after summer vacation was over, or maybe to partially move in together. But marriage? When the brief moment of shock wore off, Sam’s lips quirked into a brilliant smile. “Of course I’ll marry you. Course I will,” he said, leaning forward and kissing Dean, kissing him like this wasn’t just another fleeting moment, but forever. 

When he broke the kiss, Sam squeezed Dean’s hand. “I kinda have some news for you. Nothing as dramatic…” Then he laughed. “You’re really makin’ an honest man of me?”

“God, I hope you didn’t quit your job. Hunter’s pay sucks ass,” Dean said, still tasting Sam on his lips and feeling relief clear down to his toes that Sam said yes. “I was kinda planning on you being my sugar daddy, you know.” Dean grinned at him. He wanted to jump up and shout, not caring if he made a complete, idiotic spectacle of himself. “And I promise I will dance with you at the wedding.” He gave a slight grimace. “Sorry, hard to focus. I’m still in the dazed zone of ‘you said yes.’ What’s your news?”

“You know, if you’d asked me Christmas day last year… you’d have gotten the same answer. I just knew. Remember I told you I never felt at home anywhere? I felt at home in your cabin, with you.” Sam gave Dean a look that spoke volumes about how he felt. 

Noticing Dean waiting on him, he came back to his senses. “My news… well, the University has a pilot program next Fall, and I volunteered. I can teach my classes over the internet. I thought that would be one way for us to be together. I kind of got used to it over the breaks we spent together,” he cocked his head to the side, “I didn’t want to let that go so soon. I guess I should just have asked you to marry me and stay,” he laughed.

Dean grinned. “Yeah, but then all the practice I put into that speech would’a been for nothing.” Growing more serious, he said, “I still want...I want a home. With you. So I’m saying let’s buy a house. I can still limit my… _our_...hunts to closer to home. Just means when one comes down the road, you don’t have to stay behind. You like that idea? Finding a little place to call home?”

“Our place… yeah, our home.” Sam grinned again. “I love the idea. So long as Christmas is always at the cabin. I’ve adopted your tradition, and we’re not letting that one go.”

Laughing Dean nodded. “Absolutely. Just don’t get pissed if we’re out on snowmobiles hunting for other lost souls in a snowstorm and have to share the cabin with someone. I promise, you’re the only one for me. And I have a question for you. I know you don’t like thinking about the past, but...I looked into it. Who your parents were. What happened. And why you ended up in foster care with no one looking in on you to make sure you were doing okay.” He put a thick manila folder on the table. “It’s all there. You can burn it, or open it, or keep it for a day when you’re ready to deal with it. Your choice. I won’t ever mention it again, if you don’t want me to. But I’ll tell you this. You were loved very much by your parents and they were really good people.”

Sam’s expression became more serious, his gaze dropping to the envelope. By now, he knew what hunters were and that they did important, often thankless work. That they were heroes, many rough around the edges, but heroes just the same.

He licked his lips. “You know I hated them for … for as long as I remember,” he said, thinking back to the days he was passed around from one foster home to another. “Somehow people always knew I’d been abandoned and they’d toss it in my face.” He swallowed and raised his gaze, “You really think I should read it?” he asked, trusting Dean implicitly.

“Yes. You shouldn’t hate them. Your aunt and her second husband? Them you should hate. They took you in after your parents passed, fought for you in court. All so they could get their hands on your parents’ life insurance. Once they got their hands on the money, they put you in foster care. The hunters who would’a looked in on you never knew it. They thought you were safe with family. But your mom and dad, I think when you get done reading that, you’ll be proud to be their kid. Real proud,” Dean said, hoping Sam would take the time to learn about his parents.

Sam pulled the envelope to his side of the table and gave a nod. “Maybe there’s something in here that’ll help me remember.” He wasn’t gonna open it now, but later, maybe when they were watching TV on the bed, then he’d work through the materials in the envelope.

“Dean. Thanks.” He gave a smile, then a playful light entered his eyes. “So, when’s our big day. This isn’t gonna be some five year engagement, is it? I don’t want to have gray hair by the time I see you dance for the first time.”

“Whenever you want it. We could do...I don’t know, maybe right before Thanksgiving, then go straight to the cabin for a month long honeymoon?” Dean said. He didn’t know shit about weddings or how long it would take to make it whatever kinda perfect Sam wanted it to be. “Or we can do it in a week, if that’s what you want. Your call.” He pulled out another envelope and laid it on the table. It was the envelope from the Christmas present. 

“That’s one way never to forget an anniversary,” Sam chuckled, his gaze moving to the envelope. “How come, when I left your birthday present in the room, you were nosing around in it, but this, this you wait six months for?” 

“Because...because I’ve opened the mystery presents before it said to and they never made any sense until the date it said. So I figured why the hell torture myself trying to figure it out?” Dean said, picking up the envelope and opening it. He pulled out a gift card to a jewelry store. “Huh,” he said and put it down on the table for Sam to look at, then pulled out a rather odd looking key with an address tied to it with a string. Opening the letter that was with it, he read it aloud.

“Dean, this will be the last you hear from me. No more mystery presents at Christmas. You’ve found your place, and you’ve found your one and only. You are a legacy, and so is Samuel. When you reach the bunker, know that you are the last of the Men of Letters. You can read about me, your grandfather, Henry Winchester, in the journals there. I have faith you’ll figure out how I always knew when you needed what. Have a good life, both of you. H.W.”

He glanced at Sam and gave a helpless shrug. “Don’t ask me. I’m as baffled as you. Holy crap,” he said and pointed to the jewelry store across the street. It was the same name as was on the gift card.

Sam followed Dean’s gaze to the jewelry store. “Someone’s been playing reindeer games with us,” he said, half-smiling, half-shaking his head. “So… I’m a hunter in training, a man of letters and your fiancé, all in one day? Pinch me.” Reaching for Dean, he drew him in for a kiss. There were mysteries to be worked out, but first things first.

* * *

One week later, they pulled up in front of the building, or was it some sort of bomb shelter? Sam gave Dean a look, hoping they hadn't wasted their time, but curious about what he supposed was part three of this gift from Dean's grandfather. His time traveling grandfather!

Getting out of the car, he waited for Dean to pull out the strange looking key, and they approached the building. "Well, the whiskey and the rings were nice, anyway," he said, smiling a little at the silver band around his finger. He was too impatient to wait until Thanksgiving to wear it.

"Hey, there could be a castle inside, or you know, America's richest pad, with a pool and garden and who knows what else.” Dean pulled the key out of his pocket and slid it into the lock. A door that hadn't been apparent before snicked open a crack. Never a trusting soul, Dean pulled out his 9-mm and used his foot to open the door wider. Lights, yellowish in color, flickered on revealing a hallway. With a final look at Sam he led the way.

Running his hand over the dusty door, Sam followed him inside. "You bring me to the strangest places." He searched for a light switch, and seeing none, headed after Dean for the hall. "Is it me, or is there an Area 51 vibe to this place." It was probably just the blinking lights.

"Totally," Dean agreed. "On both counts." He whirled around when the door shut behind them, then turned back to the hallway, his gun held out and ready.

After about thirty feet, there was another door. He had Sam open it and looked in. Before him was a huge room. Ancient looking panels with occasionally flashing lights, scattered across them. A table was in the middle of the room and some of the wall space was lined with obviously old books and manuscripts. 

The flashing light stopped and the lights came on when they entered, just like in the hallway. "Anyone here?" he called out. Glancing at Sam he shook his head. "No, I'm thinking more like Flash Gordon from the forties."

"You and your superheroes..." Sam's gaze had instantly gone to what looked like a library, even in the dim light. He searched again for a light switch, finding a large one that he had to pull on. The lights flickered, and then the room was fully lit. 

"Whoa... not what I was expecting," he said, looking all the way up and seeing the banisters of the second floor. Sam walked around, turning on smaller lamps, and pointing to the whiskey decanters and glasses. "It's like a movie set, but with more substance."

"Dean," he turned to look at him. "These are all books on the occult and ... just on this shelf, six languages. They look like first prints, too."

"Not what I was expecting either," Dean agreed, looking around. He could see doors and hallways running off from the central room. "This place looks massive." He walked over to a different set of shelves and picked up a book, opening it. "Holy Crap! Sam! This is in Latin but says it's a translation of one of the lost scrolls from the library of Alexandria. Isn't that like the famous library that got burned by the Romans or something?"

"Seriously?" Sam immediately went to look, blinking to be certain he wasn't seeing things. "Unbelievable." He walked into a hall and opened a few doors. Some of the spaces were empty. Others were set up as sparse bedrooms. And others still were filled with boxes or shelves of information. Neatly scribbled notes... diaries. 

Pushing another door open, he called out again, "Dean." It was a weapons room. There were weapons from throughout the ages, displayed on the walls and in glass shadow boxes. "These are medieval..." he breathed, looking at some lances and daggers.

Dean followed Sam's voice and glanced into the room. "Hope like hell they don't have a nuclear bomb hidden away down here somewhere," he said, only half- joking. He checked out the next few doors and every room was different, filled with different things. One was filled with what was obviously spell components, another held curse boxes. They continued to check out other hallways and doors until they found a door with the same symbol on it the key had, a symbol that had appeared on many of the boxes and book bindings they'd passed. 

Opening the door, there was a large table. On the walls were pictures with plaques with names beneath them. Dean scanned over them and finally stopped. "Henry Winchester. My grandfather," he said, "and our apparent benefactor. Son of a bitch, that guy was sitting next to us at the coffee shop where I asked you to marry me, I'd bet my life on it."

Sam took a look. Maybe the guy looked a little familiar, but Sam wasn't sure. "Good looking guy. Guess we know where you get your looks from. And scholarly looking. Hunter scholars, huh." He moved around the room, opening chests and finding all sorts of wonders. "It could literally take years to catalogue everything in here. It's like one big treasure hunt."

Dean gave a shrug. "Actually, everyone says I take after my mom." He continued around the room, looking at pictures. "Sam! This has to be your grandfather. The name's right. Man, he looks like your older brother or something."

"What?" That drew Sam's attention. He inspected the picture. The guy was a dead ringer for him, except for the short hair and formal clothing. "Must have died young," he guessed. "Or, after my parents... he would have taken me," he guessed, now very much at ease with the idea that he had been a wanted child, who'd simply lost his parents to evil.

Dean gave a shrug. "All I know about my grandfather is that he simply disappeared one night when my dad was about six. I've never heard of these Men of Letters before but I'm betting we'll find something in this place that'll tell us what happened." He looked around the room then his gaze came back to rest on Sam. "It can't end with us Sam. I got a feeling this place has more knowledge about things that go bump in the night than all hunters' journals put together. I think...maybe once we've really checked this place over, like in a year or so, we need to start bringing others in. Maybe...hell, I dunno, maybe start up a school for kids of hunters. Give them a safe place to stay, a home, and any kid orphaned--they won't go through what you went through." Dean walked up to Sam and pulled him into his arms. "We'll figure it out, how to preserve this place, how to protect it. And we won't rush into any decision. Guess we probably ought to look for a house somewhere kinda close to this place, huh?"

"You'd do that? Take 'em all in?" Searching Dean's eyes, Sam could tell Dean wasn't just blowing smoke. He meant it. He also got that the idea came to Dean because of what Sam had gone through. "You just get better and better, don't you?" he asked, his voice a little husky as he hugged Dean back, holding him close. He licked his lips. "This house... you've really got your heart set on a small house?" he asked, a little warily, "I mean, it's something you've always wanted?"

"Well, I just don't want a great big yard to take care of, or big drive to shovel and crap. I figure something small, it's easy enough to lock up when we hit the road for hunts. If you want a big farmhouse or something, I'm cool with that. I just want...I want what neither of us ever really had. A home to call ours, you know?"

Sam nodded as he listened, excitement making his eyes sparkle. "What about here? This place?" he asked. "You have no idea how much I'd love a library, and this one..." Without thinking, he dragged Dean back to what would be his favorite room. "We could set up a full on living room over there. I mean, it's a little business-like right now, but you and I, we could turn it into a home."

Dean let Sam drag him around. After a moment of thought, he gave a nod. "I'm game. We'll get a P.O. Box set up a town or two over. But we gotta get a big screen TV." Dean hooked an arm around Sam's waist and grinned. "Welcome home, Sam."

Sam leaned his forehead against Dean’s. “Our home,” he whispered, his heart bursting with joy. 

THE END


End file.
